


Finding Eros

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Burlesque Performer Yuuri, Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Dancer Victor Nikiforov, First Kiss, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: At twenty-seven, Victor Nikiforov, oldest initiate of the Agape Sect of the god of Love, is ready to experience life and love in all its multitude of ways.  The problem?  Getting anyoneelseto take him seriously.In which Yuuri does burlesque performances while pursuing his dream in dance, Victor is a God-blessed temple initiate who finds himself falling in love, and the Gods help very little by interfering where they do.





	1. victor arrives at a conclusion

**Author's Note:**

> Finally starting to roll out one of the stories I've been working on since November. May you find it as fun to read as I've been finding it to write! Take it all with a grain of nonsense; that's about the feeling I've been running with as I write.

The god of love had never meant to bless the seven year old boy who stood before their altar, dirty and staring up at the priestess with her hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. Doubt cast a depth in his blue eyes that seemed too heavy for one his age. A life lived with hunger and the cold and dangers of the street, even in the more civilized cities, aged most before their time. Their vague interest in the boy’s future had them leaning closer, peering through the smoke of incense burning over their altar bowl.

The priestess was one of the Pragma Sect, longtime worshippers and leaders who had pledged their lives voluntarily to the god of love. Wearing the name of one of love’s many aspects, they were responsible for overseeing the children brought in to the Agape Sect, those tasked primarily with doing good and charitable works through the city. Living out the embodiment of _agape_ , they tended and cared for any and all who sought their assistance, protected by the god of love themselves.

Or so the stories went. In all fairness, the god themselves couldn’t remember when the rumours had first started, but as a consequence of the demands of their believers, faith had formed its own truth.

Hence the portion of the god’s consciousness that hovered on the far side of their altar, breathing in and stirring the smoke of the incense. The child was firmly nudged forward, invited to reach into the still pool of water resting underneath the hanging brazier burning amber in ample quantity.

Only it wasn’t burning amber that morning. The aspect of love attending the ceremony breathed in deep of the burning cherry incense as the young boy dipped his hands into the chill water and promptly let out a great, silent sneeze. Smoke billowed forth around the young boy’s head, surrounding him with a crown like the mountain caps in the distance. The priestess in attendance gasped, seeing the smoke form an incidental halo. 

“You’ve been greatly blessed,” she said, her fingers pressing firm into the flesh of the young boy’s shoulder. Her eyes filled with unshed tears of a simpler happiness, her thanks an effervescent overflow of prayer in her mind and over her lips that did little to help the poor aspect of love where they’d retreated, covering their face as the silent sneezes continued to wrack through it.

The young boy, lovingly named Victor by a mother and father he’d missed for years, had merely coughed in return, pulling his hands out of the bowl of water. He coughed and rubbed at his face and nose, the sting of unexpected smoke in his nose and lungs less a blessing and more a nuisance.

“That’s nice,” he said, believing nothing of the sort, but likewise believing politeness toward an elder was erring on the better side of caution. “Does that mean we can eat now?”

“Dear child, no, it does not! We eat after we’ve bathed. Blessed or no, you still have to follow all the same rules the rest of us do.”

The subsequent dumping into a wooden tub and scrubbing down by practiced hands that peered through silver strands of hair looking for lice was both an irritant and a delight. Victor hadn’t felt clean for long enough that relishing it now brightened the prospects and thoughts of his future. Being blessed didn’t sound terrible. Believing he was blessed was another matter, but while the Pragma Sect believed it, then it seemed unlikely he’d be kicked out of the Agape Sect and left back on the streets. 

He far preferred being part of their number to being tended to by the very same individuals. A matter of personal pride, for all it might not be very _agape_ of him. Whatever agape really meant.

* * *

The problem of his blessing was one that took years to be realised. While most of those who were interred into the Agape Sect during their youth moved on to one of the other sects in their young adulthood, if they didn’t leave the temple or its constituents as a whole to pursue other trades or goals, Victor found himself… caught. Each test of faith and ritualistic bath and the reading of tea leaves and everything else the priests and priestesses from the Pragma Sect could envision all pointed to the same result at the beginning of each year, as the head priest of the Agape Sect was divined.

Every year, it was Victor.

Every year what was largely a figurehead position felt more and more like an actual _head priesthood_ as Victor found, to his growing confusion, that he continued to be the living embodiment of the concept of _agape._ According to the signs of the very god they followed, there was no one more suited for the role.

It had been gratifying when he was younger, a reason for him to strive to better surprise those he worked and lived with. The work was inspiring, the sense of belonging appeasing, even if he didn’t find much in the way of _philia_ with his fellow initiates or the priests and priestesses in the other sects. _Agape_ , a general, unconditional affection, ruled him on a superficial level. He was unerringly kind and attentive in public; in private, he was self-contained, quiet. 

By his ninth year in the Agape Sect, he was a known form around the city, remarkable for the increasingly intricate embroidery on his veil of service and the sprightliness of his impromptu dances in the public squares. His luck was bountiful: no one raised a hand to Victor in either anger or avarice. He encountered no ardor directed his way, only the same _agape_ he inspired in others. He was requested to attend celebrations and funerals, growing more and more into his role as a symbol while hiding more and more of his dissatisfaction away. 

His first breakthrough had to do with a bedraggled pup he encountered hidden in a pile of refuse where she’d crawled to keep warm. An early winter snowfall had blanketed the city, snow compacting over the ice as people hit the streets throughout the day. Victor found himself hunting down an old man who had a tendency to wander away from his son’s home in the afternoon, following what might have been his footsteps through the snow of a side alley with a single-minded focus. Leaping from footprint to footprint, he startled as snow and refuse whimpered to his right. Leaving off the game, he crept closer, crouching down and calling out.

“Here, pup. Where are you? It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. I might even be able to feed you if you come out soon. I’m looking for an old man who wandered away from his family right now, he gets confused in the afternoons. How good is your nose? Say, help me find him, and we might even find you a home!”

Whether it was his tone of voice and burbling nonsense words or the looming reality of dark as the afternoon sun waned, the dirty puppy responded, wiggling her way free of dirty snow and garbage. Her tail wagged in a hesitant arc, growing more and more furiously happy as Victor held out his hand, cooing at her for encouragement. She nudged under his hand, careful at first, sniffing and licking with increasing joy as Victor smiled behind his veil. With all the puppies he’d encountered before, from the milk-breathed ones still nursing to the long-limbed and gangly ones halfway through their growth, he’d always appreciated their own sense of _agape_ , the love they gave without pausing to consider if anyone might not be deserving of that love.

He felt _agape_ more cleanly in that moment than he had in a long while, scrubbing his fingers through the curls of her poll. He tried picking her up, finding her dancing away and starting to make her awkward puppy gambol down the alley. He laughed and called out, cajoling and commanding in turn. “Puppy! Where are you going, you silly little thing? Come! Come here!” 

The puppy didn’t listen, wagging her tail and barking whenever he stopped. He could dash forward, scoop her up in his arms to have his victory, but curiosity at her behaviour and increased vigour kept him following after.

She’d brought him back to the footsteps he’d been jumping between, plowing on with her tail wagging the whole way. It was the puppy who found the confused old man first, drooped over his feet where he sat on an old stoop, staring up between the buildings.

The veil and pattern of the coat Victor wore were a comfort for familiarity to even a failing memory. All the initiates of the Agape Sect wore the same colours and outfits in public while performing their works; the individuals beneath hardly mattered. They were all children and young adults, interchangeable and forever changing.

“Awfully big to be with Agape, aren’t you?” the old man asked, patting Victor’s arm companionably as they made their way back to his son’s home. 

Victor adjusted his hold on the puppy, tucked now inside his coat. The dirt and smell would wash out. In the meantime, his body heat would have to do for warming the young dog. “Agape comes in all shapes and sizes.” A truth that’d been ingrained in his head like the telling of time by the sundials or the method to cleaning the front chambers of the temple, those always left open to the public. 

The old man shook his head. “No, not like that. Big as in old, initiate. Odd, odd. I’m grateful, though. One of those little slips of a thing feels so insubstantial on a day like this.”

The words would come back to eat at his mind when he slept. At the time, they were simply more words from an old man due to be tucked into his blanket and his chair by the fire, which was exactly where Victor left him. He made an attempt to leave the puppy as well, offering her over and explaining her role in the old man’s discovery.

It might have worked, if she hadn’t promptly darted out the door between his legs as he left, refusing to allow him to pick her up again. The puppy followed him back to the temple, head drooping as they reached the steps, tail wagging tiredly when she finally allowed Victor to again take her up into his arms. Her loyalty, going beyond the _agape_ he knew, touched part of his heart he hadn’t realised was lying dormant.

He brought her in and bathed her, gave her a name, _Makkachin_. When asked what it meant, he answered with the truth.

Nothing. He simply liked how it sounded.

Makkachin became his _philia._ When the words of the old man from that day finally found a place to take seed and grow in Victor’s mind, it was Makkachin’s steady, unfaltering love and devotion that helped Victor remember his duty to his god.

By his twentieth birthday, he knew something was certainly wrong. No one reached their majority as an initiate in the Agape Sect. No one was in the Agape Sect for that long. He sent prayers to his god, consulted with the priests and priestesses of the other sects. He tried leaving, only to find that he would end up back at the temple through one set of circumstances or another. Even when he’d first tried alcohol to indulgence, the kind soul that’d collected him off the bench outside the pub had delivered him to the warmth of the sleeping bodies within the temple’s public chambers. One of the priests of the Ludus Sect, younger than Victor, had recognised him and alerted the Pragma Sector.

“You’re blessed,” they all said. 

“It’s our God’s will,” they explained.

Victor understood what they implied as well as they did, eyes looking on him with both wonder and sympathy.

_Blessings could be curses as well._

Victor would have to find a way out on his own.

* * *

As the eldest initiate in the Agape Sect, and as the one chosen still year after year to lead the services and dances orchestrated by the unconditional aspect of their god, the _agape_ form of love, Victor found he had very little to learn from within the temple. He wasn’t allowed the secrets of the other sects; he barely even knew anything of the Eros Sect, with its temple and network of buildings in another section of the city altogether.

He asked for leeway. He found it granted, and as he stood for the first time walking bare-faced down the temple stairs looking out across the city he’d known for most his life, he saw more than one possible future.

He knew _agape_. He knew _philia_. Next, perhaps, was _ludus_. Playful love, that had him braiding back his long hair and walking the roads with Makkachin during the festivals to each god, in each of their aspects. To the Lunar Festival, heavy with promises between lovers and friends, bright with lanterns strung up between buildings, loud with the music provided by amateurs and professionals alike. Victor found dancing in a new way then, joining hands with strangers and twirling around circles, lifting up and being lifted in turn as laughter flowed free and uninhibited. _Ludus_ he found almost easy. It was a smile and a hand held out in invitation, dragging in another young man or young woman or young neutral or old someone to the dance, to where people lived and moved and embodied the music.

He caught on to the difference eventually, how hands and looks would linger between others, but eyes would light up and lips would grin and hands would touch him in nothing but the ways he’d always known. _Ludus_ was a flirtation he took to like a fish took to water, but where it flowed toward _eros_ he was left at the foot of a great waterfall. Others moved in leaps and bounds, falling upward, chasing after what Victor could see, but not touch. He watched, swimming in circles, one eye toward the sky, the other looking into the depths of a rippling, roaring pool.

He felt attraction, simple and straightforward. It wasn’t a lack he could identify in himself that lead to where others noted his beauty but never found themselves craving its intimacy: it was the same blessing that had always kept him safe, still working now, turning him into the unconditional love that people protected without thinking about it. Flirtations were fine, silly and fun and meaningless, and for years he told himself he didn’t mind. Didn’t mind how finding his expanded sense of _philautia_ was a slow and pleasurable process in and of itself, learning his own mind, exploring the hollows he found, exploring his body and finding new limits to challenge himself to surpass.

Dance became his focus, his expression that didn’t require his face. He could dance what he couldn’t touch, couldn’t he? Only he found himself incapable of even that, his attempts to dance his longing for more bringing people to tears for the beauty they saw in a longing for a love beyond themselves. Tears of memories and loves lost; tears for the joys of a love held. Tears for family, tears for friends. Tears for lovers.

Not once did he inspire lust. Not once did he inspire an attraction not rooted in the desire to be loved instead of the desire to love. 

Victor became a treasure of his city, the veiled dancing initiate of Agape who was so blessed, he remained there beyond his majority. Three years, then five years, and now, seven.

He was twenty-seven and still wearing the veils of the Agape Sect when he danced for the sake of his god, praying to his god, asking for a way to move beyond his blessing causing him to stagnate. He wanted to be touchable, accessibly human in the same flawed way he’d always felt he was. As happy and sad and wonderfully varied as each and every person around him.

It was _eros_. _Pragma_ would only come with time and age, if he were lucky. The biggest contrast he could find for the _agape_ he lived within was the selfishness of another love, a desire that gave birth to great heights and deplorable lows. To a love through which wisdom and beauty could be understood in a way Victor had yet to grasp. Words in philosophical texts could only tell him so much. The touch of his own hands, the way he’d learned to play his body for his own pleasure, wasn’t enough. He ached, and he wanted, and he was fed up of being everyone’s ideal.

He had to understand _eros_. 

The final weight of his decision fell on his shoulders as he stepped out from one of the many stores within the Eros Sect of the city, its clean storefronts and streets kept bright and inviting far into the depths of the night. Right then it was a lovely late morning with sunlight peeking through scattered clouds, streaking light across the sky in beams Victor fancied he might be able to hold, if only he could reach far enough. His purchase was in hand, wrapped in a soft length of velvet, tied with a beautiful ribbon stamped with the seal of the Eros Sect.

It was a beautiful piece of work, a glass dildo that’d caught his eye the week before. Ribbons of blue and teal and red and gold swirled through the length, all with a pleasing curve and a flare toward the bottom that served as both a firm base for it to be set upon, and a guarantee of some safety in use. He untied the ribbon, folding back the velvet to study the curls of colour through the glass. Expert hands made this; he knew, from watching the glassblower’s work over the last few years. She’d come leaps and bound from her initial prototypes, selling both art and pleasure with the stamp of approval from the Eros Sect itself.

He held it up to the light, admiring the way the sunshine caught the colours and gave them greater depth. A familiar voice to his right interrupted his quiet reverie, lowering the dildo and giving her his full attention. It was one of the young women who worked for a bakery he enjoyed for their petite tarts and abundant buns.

“How beautiful! Is it a gift for someone?”

Amusement had him chuckling. “Yes. Me.” 

Her pause and look of confusion soon turned into shared amusement as she laughed, waving a hand in front of her face. “Right, right, whatever you say. Send whoever it is our way, won’t you? We always appreciate a new customer.” With a wink, she moved on, still laughing in fits and starts.

Victor stared at her back, wrapping the beautiful glass dildo back in the velvet. His fingers stroked over the fabric, plucking at one end of the ribbon. Like a flash of lightning, realisation struck.

What if finding _eros_ was a matter of making someone understand he _wasn’t_ involved with anyone else? That he belonged to himself alone, and was looking to understand _eros_ so he could break through the constraints of his almost cursed blessing? What if all it took was him taking a stronger initiative with a willing audience?

Victor glanced down at the velvet wrapped dildo in his hand, moving to tie the ribbon back around its girth.

His god might never answer his prayers, but that might be the answer in and of itself. Victor had to find his own understanding of _eros_ , just as he’d come to understand _agape_ , _philia_ , even _ludus_.

He would find _eros_ tonight. Find Makkachin a companion for the evening, then find one of his own. 

A perfect plan.

Nothing, quite certainly, would go wrong.


	2. enter eros stage right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor embarks on his discovery of _eros_ , only to find less, then more, than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating early for the sake of introducing Eros/Yuuri from Victor's POV. Let's get this ball rolling!
> 
> We open with a discussion between the god of Love and Love's different aspects about Victor's unique situation...

“Please explain to me how I have a twenty-eight year old initiate in my Agape Sect —”

“Twenty-seven.”

Love rounded around to stare at Eros, narrowing her eyes. She was female for the moment, decked in bright, bold fabrics, half her chest left exposed. Eros had dressed themselves in fig leaves over chest and loins, suggesting, but not exposing, this little last part of themselves.

All the aspects of love were gathered together, Agape conversing with one of the aspects of war that had come along with them. Love has called them to her when she’d dipped her toes into her temple in the heart of the city, ghosting through the halls and leaving hearts warm and overfull in her wake.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, what difference does it make?”

“Only a year or so,” said Ludus, laughing and waggling their fingers at Eros. “To us, it’s less than a blink of an eye. To him I’m certain it’s important.”

Love sighed, canting her head to the side as she observed all aspects of herself. Themself. The form she wore for the moment was only the form she’d taken for now. Just as love had many aspects, so Love wore them all in turn. “He should have enough of _philautia_ to value his own time. Am I right?”

Philautia looked up from where they lounged next to Pragma, tipping their head forward. “You are. I don’t think his sense of _philautia_ is a problem.”

Eros laughed, pushing up from where they sat and stretching their arms overhead. “No, no, the problem has everything to do with Agape, doesn’t it?” Light eyes flashing in humour, Eros draped an arm around Agape’s shoulders, sliding between them and the aspect of war they’d been speaking with. Morale blinked and lifted an eyebrow at Eros’ intrusion, but otherwise held their peace.

“Yes?” Agape’s smile brightened a degree, gentle confusion in their eyes. “Unconditional love is the problem?”

“When blessed with an overabundance that doesn’t go more than skin deep.”

Agape opened their mouth, closing it again with a soft sigh. “It wasn’t intentional. Someone had been burning _cherry incense_ when he was being initiated, and I happened to breath it in…”

Love looked between Agape and Eros, having an inkling of who had managed to wend that prank into the temple. “Then what happened?”

Agape glanced down, blushing prettily. “I sneezed.”

Eros burst out laughing, Agape elbowing them in the side with a sniff as Love looked on, caught between affection and irritation. “You _sneezed_.”

“It was _very powerful incense._ You know I’m allergic!”

Eros was still laughing. “To cherries! Given the state of all your initiates, you don’t find that a little hilarious?”

Agape patted one of Eros’ fig leaves into place over their chest, lifting both eyebrows. “Unconditional means I love even you, Eros.” Leaning forward, they pressed a pert kiss to Eros’ cheek, patting their shoulder and turning back to Love. They weren’t apparently as amused as Eros, but they didn’t need to be. “It was a very strong blessing, but to last twenty years? I hadn’t expected that.”

“You sneezed…”

“It was hardly on purpose.” 

“Still…” Love sighed, then laughed. “It won’t do to have him remain where he is forever. Which is why I’ve summoned everyone here as an aspect. What should we do about this?”

Pragma leaned forward, resting their elbows on their knees. “Nothing.” 

Philia nodded, gesturing toward the other aspect.

“Believe in him, but let him figure a way through this blessing on his own.”

Agape smiled, clapping their hands. “Love him even if he fails!” Agape might have been missing the point, or deliberately remaining obtuse. They certainly didn’t feel odd about having a twenty-seven year old virginal initiate leading their sect. It was the most organised it’d been in centuries.

Eros leaned in to Agape, eyes on Love. “He’s looking to understand what falling into the pleasure of everything means. I agree with Pragma for once. Do nothing. Just watch.” They smiled, slow and feline, eyes half closed. “If nothing else, it should make for a great show.”

Ludus laughed, already in love with the idea. “Leave it to him, but be a little kind, will you? Nudge him toward someone who could stand to gain a little more agape in their life. Know anyone like that, Eros?”

Eros looked skyward, Agape smiling while the other aspect delayed on answering. “I _might_ know a few who’d qualify for something like that, though if you ask me, unconditional love is overrated.”

Agape only smiled wider.

Love rolled her wrist, gesturing at Eros and Agape and even Morale where they sat. “Give him a nudge. Both of you, keep an eye on his progress. Keep me informed.” She motioned them all forward, smiling and extending a hand to Morale when the aspect of war lingered on the outskirts. “You too, love.” Once everyone was gathered, she enfolded them in a hug with arms that were suddenly large enough to encompass them all. “Love you.”

A chorus of voices returned the sentiment, joined by a soft, happily confused Morale.

“Love you too.”

* * *

Victor moved down the streets around the Eros temple with little in mind outside of his general determination. He’d considered speaking with one of men of the night he knew and trusted, but the last time he’d asked they’d laughed and told him they couldn’t, really. He understood and respected their honesty; particularly as he’d apologised later when he’d finally sobered up. It’d been a particularly empty feeling day midwinter, and Victor admittedly hadn’t been at his best.

Tonight he was feeling fine, collected and anticipatory of _something_. How in the world he planned to go about this had seemed simple in the morning. He could… announce his intentions? Find any of those men of the night who didn’t know him, perhaps?

It seemed the most likely thing to do, an equal exchange of money for time and mutual respect between all parties. He even knew which of the houses to head toward, finding a purpose again as he adjusted the length of his stride to move through the crowd. He shared smiles the few times his eyes were caught by another’s, but there was no more than a spark of curiosity in any gaze he met.

Remarkable, really. In other circumstances, he’d be amused. Right then he was still feeling that buzz of anticipation.

That buzz lasted through his stepping inside and speaking with the host, through being brought into one of the open parlours and talking with the men and women and those who identified as both or neither mingling. The ribbon at his wrist indicated his own interest; Victor had figured that out about himself over the years, when his interest was caught more firmly by the men in his periphery than ever the women, or those who identified as neither, or even both.

Everything here depended on being chosen to be entertained, rather than choosing those who were looking to entertain. It was a first test of sorts, to see if by placing himself as someone volunteering their interest, he might breach that first invisible barrier.

The smile of a young man around his own age caught Victor’s attention, offering his hand to Victor with a flourish and a bow. “Join me for the evening?”

Victor’s heart beat faster, anticipation coursing through his veins. He knew the mechanics, had read the books and tried to _not_ witness the act various times over the years out of a sense of privacy he’d want upheld for himself. Imagining himself engaged in all of that with a willing partner?

Honestly, it was intriguing, tinged with a spark of arousal. If it was evident in how he took the other man’s hand with a wink and light laugh, answering, “I’d be honoured,” his partner of the moment chose not to comment.

Walking up the stairs a step behind him, Victor had expected all different possibilities. His own inexperience might play against him, but he’d fumble and learn and be better on his own steep learning curve. He had confidence in that much.

What he hadn’t expected was to find his question about the other man’s day unlocking a flood of emotion, resulting in the awkward moment where Victor’s face went blank while a quietly sobbing man clung to his neck and talked about missing his sister’s wedding. For a lack of anything else to do with his hands, Victor settled on patting the man’s back, stroking like he did with Makkachin. Tears like this made him want to squirm, uncomfortable and at a loss. Had they been his fault? Had they not? Was there anything he could say to make the tired and lonely man clinging to his neck feel any better?

Victor settled on mumbling, “There, there,” and, “I know,” faintly glad the other man couldn’t see his face. He imagined his expression, tempted to laugh for lack of knowing what else to do. Distress and discomfort wasn’t a look he wore well.

After an indeterminate time, Victor’s lap had ended up filled with sleeping, emotionally exhausted stranger. It wasn’t even the strangest twist in his life, for all it was a strange twist to his hoped for evening. _Eros_ was proving to be more elusive than he expected. He needed to evaluate and change tactic again. He reviewed options as he managed to get the other man into his bed, tucking him in with an absent air of inattentive, general concern. Looking around for water of any kind, Victor found a flask that he left on the bed in reach of the sleeping man.

He straightened his clothes, rumpled for all the unexpected reasons, found his coat, then headed back down the stairs as quietly as he could. Which was remarkably quiet, even on unfamiliar stairs with their own creaks and groans.

“Enjoy your evening?”

Victor laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “It was surprising! Nothing quite like it before.” His smile tended toward rueful, but the polite sidestep indicated a different truth to the host. 

She reached out to clasp his shoulder, shaking her head in sympathy. “It happens to everyone. Have faith! Next time will be better.”

What specifically did she mean? He guessed, but the unexpectedly apt assurance had him smile and nod, pulling on his shoes and stepping back out into the bustle of the night.

Raking a hand through his hair, Victor sighed. He could go home now, find Makkachin and go over his next plan of action. It was the more appealing idea as he started walking, idly making his way down the street. He crossed with a group of people chatting animatedly amoungst themselves, eavesdropping in passing, catching the odd word about excitement and an upcoming festival. He needed to check the calendar, unable to recall which festival it was.

He near tripped when he was jostled by a laughing couple, stumbling and catching himself with a hand out to brace himself against the side of the building. He looked back over his shoulder, a brief and passing irritation rising and fading away again as he saw the couple swallowed up by the crowd. His own fault for failing to pay attention. The irritation left, Victor straightening and adjusting his coat. Determined not to make the same mistake in the span of the same minute, he cast his gaze around his surroundings, eyes lingering on the woodprint poster he found on the wall next to where he stood. A man, lashes exaggerated, looking back over his shoulder with his hip cocked, hand resting at his waist. It was an interesting composition, Victor appreciating the framing of the man within the portrait, but it was the words that stole his attention away.

_Evening performance by Eros at the Ice Castle._

What were the chances? Not a terribly original stage name, but in the scheme of things, both bold and direct. Victor brushed his fingers over the bottom corner of the poster, eyes flicking up.

The sign half a meter down the road was lit by the glass lamp light, in gold and white and blue. The Ice Castle.

What would it hurt? He was looking for _eros_. Finding Eros along the way would be only a little more time before he headed back to Makkachin. The earlier buzz of anticipation sang through his veins, as if he would find a hint of _eros_ here, perhaps. A staged play, an exercise in teasing and not touching.

He was used to not being touched. Watching might show what it was he’d been missing before, the times he’d tried to dance for seduction only to fail, time and again, to stir anything more than a different longing in the hearts of those who watched.

Into the line, flashing a smile at the woman at the entrance. A fee exchanged, of course, a different sort of environment inviting different rules. He paid without comment, another donation to the god they all served under, to an aspect whose name was being put on like a mask by a stranger Victor had never met. His appreciation of anyone holding a similar nod to Eros as he did when he was veiled and dancing for Agape left him smiling as he moved inside. 

It was more spacious than he expected, the stage well lit and central to the long wall, seating arranged in smaller tables and a few long benches at similarly long tables. The floors were tile, white and blue mosaics sweeping forward underfoot. Similar shades of blue and white threaded with gold curved up and over each wall, painted and beautiful. Blue curtains were pulled back from small alcoves at the far end of the room, individual cushioned seats visible in the low lit insides between shifting bodies and over the heads of those already seated.

He appreciated the layout for the subtle way the stage compelled the audience to look toward it, thrust out as it was just enough to encourage a ring of watchers at their own tables. The bar faced opposite the stage; Victor headed toward it, moving through those people standing and mingling in the narrow space between tables and bar. Ordering a drink was simple. He planned on nursing it for a while, seeing what he could learn from this experience, what watching another’s performance from a different school of appeal could show him about himself.

He settled himself in an available space, striking up conversation with the man and woman already seated at the table. “Have you ever been here before?”

Victor shook his head, tipping his mug their way. The twinkling of light through the glass beads hanging from each gaslamp distracted him at first; beautiful things. “No, tonight’s my first time. What about the both of you?”

She laughed, her name given and forgotten in the same breath. “Third time for me. Third _year_ for him.”

Victor whistled in surprise. “Every night?”

The man snorted, setting down his mug. “No, hardly. I only come for Eros these days. He performs a few nights a week when you’re lucky. The other acts I followed aren’t around anymore.”

“Retired?”

“Moved on, retired, married. People move in and out of all kinds of lifestyles.”

 _As long as they don’t find themselves getting mired down by it all._ “You’re right about that,” he said instead. “People do seem to have that habit. What can you tell me about his?” Victor nodded toward the stage, empty but for lighting and a curtained backdrop. 

“Eros’ habits? Can’t say. He puts on a good show, draws quite the audience. Many return customers, the tips have to be decent. Can’t imagine why he wouldn’t go into private performances unless he was getting decently paid. He’s that…” The man trailed off, fingers up and reaching for a word he didn’t find. 

“Compelling?” The woman at his side provided, nudging his mug back toward him. She focused on Victor instead, sharing a secret sort of smile with him. “When he’s on stage it’s difficult to look away.”

“It’s how he moves. I don’t know how else to say it, but you’ll see. Lucky you,” the man said, lifting his mug in Victor’s direction. “To a fantastic first time.”

Victor tried very hard not to choke on his drink. He managed, for the most part. His cough after swallowing was met with a laugh from his table companions, Victor humming noncommittally instead of trying to find air to speak. 

The announcer stepped on stage, calling out through cupped hands for silence. Musicians took their seats to the front and left of the stage, facing out toward the audience. Victor settled on the edge of his chair, one foot tucked up to lean against the chair leg. Anticipation hummed through him, setting his skin itching before that, too, passed.

The lights dimmed, and the first of the acts of the evening took stage. Victor watched with a distracted air, fascinated more by the process of the three young woman’s dance involving chairs and slow rotations, showing themselves to advantage with the movement of the music. They were well coordinated, smiles bright, cheers of the crowd well timed to movements or divesting of cleverly layered articles of clothing.

He could do that. Not in his veil, but on his own. The trick would be getting people to cheer instead of gather up anything he took off and politely letting him know he’d dropped this. Snorting softly in amusement, he breathed in and fought off a sigh as the first act ended, joining in the applause.

The second performance passed without much notice, Victor cataloguing movements and feeling himself only vaguely interested in the proceedings. Lifting his chin out of his hand, he applauded the couple as they strutted off-stage, wearing much less than they’d worn coming on. A few cheers sounded through the room, quieting as the stage was cleared of clothing and tossed offerings, from money to a few daisies to what looked like a shoe.

He responded to the undercurrent of tension and anticipation in the audience. The musicians began to play again, a man joining in singing. Victor heard at first, but the words tuned out as the cheers crashed over the audience, a young man flowing onto stage wearing little more than a black robe decorated in hundreds of glass beads, and an ornate half mask. The domino looked like as if it were made of lace, turning the ordinary landscape of the man’s upper face into a tease, an elusive, almost familiar vision.

Victor couldn’t look away. It wasn’t that the man, Eros, was so striking from the start. He wasn’t phenomenally beautiful, not objectively, if there was an objective value to beauty. The way Eros moved with the music, the grace and strength in each step and turn and the roll of his hips, the shrug of his shoulders when he teased his robe off one shoulder, seemingly careless as he slid a finger under the not-quite sheer fabric, slipping it back over the curve of his shoulder: all of it caught his attention, refusing to let go. _Watch me_. A performance and a man who demanded total attention, who smiled and ran his tongue along his upper lip as he teased one nipple free, then hid away again. Who sunk down to the floor of the stage and lifted his legs in powerful, smooth movements, music and movement one.

Victor’s arousal was a fluttering in his stomach and a swirling confusion in his chest. He felt his own blush as Eros turned his back to the audience, the shortened top of his robe slipping down, showing both shoulders, the clean lines of his back and spine.

His breath caught in his throat as the performance went on, Victor discreetly crossing his legs, hand curling around his mug. He caught himself holding his breath at the end, Eros poised and all but naked on stage, his mask firmly in place, his underclothes barely keeping him decent. The audience went wild, applauding and calling out as the musicians finished their song, Eros smiling at them all and blowing a kiss as he strolled offstage, movements as flowing and unhurried as how he’d entered the stage.

“So what’d you think?” He didn’t turn to look at the man who asked, eyes still lingering on where Eros had disappeared on stage left.

“Wow,” he said, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up from his chair. “Just wow.”

“Heading out already? There’s still another two acts, you know.”

Victor shook his head, ignoring the look of amusement the man and woman shared. Flowers and baubles and money were tossed on stage, the laughing and cheering acknowledgement of people’s appreciation. He’d come empty handed. Money wasn’t the message he wanted to send, feeling the warmth coursing through his system.

The way Eros moved, the way he’d danced as he teased his audience, stripping himself almost bare while staying masked spoke to Victor on a level he hadn’t expected. He was overcome with the desire to meet him, to talk to the man who’d danced like that, to ask him how he’d done it, to ask him to show Victor _how_.

 _Finding Eros._ He laughed, shaking his head in wonder as he dropped his mug on the bar counter, heading straight for the doors. Victor hit the sidewalk with his mind already made up, pausing for long enough to allow the chill of the outside air to cool his flushed cheeks. He moved on down the street, heading for the florist near the Eros temple proper. In this part of the city, there was always someone around and awake to tend to the most obscure requests.

Victor kept his simple. “A rose,” he asked when he found the older woman watching the flower shop. “A red rose, if you have it, please.”

He cradled the tissue wrapped flower in his arms as he made his way back through the streets, finding the Ice Castle once again without realising at first. He looked up, startled by the sight of the sign, then amused and happy all at once. _Finding Eros._ He felt that much closer to finding his answer. He’d come back again, whenever Eros next performed. See if it there was a way to arrange a meeting, some of the performer’s time before or after his performance.

Until then, he had the rose. Standing in front of the woman guarding the doors, he offered the tissue paper wrapped rose to her on open palms.

“Please, could you see that Eros gets this?”

Her gruff snort of laughter and shake of her head wasn’t a denial. “Yeah, sure. You don’t want to throw it on stage?”

Victor smiled by reflex, shaking his head in turn. “Seems disrespectful to them both, flower and man.”

She gave him an odd look, finally accepting the flower. “Might be. Odd way of looking at it. Who should I say this is from? A secret admirer?” Amusement returned the sparkle to her eyes. It wasn’t an unfamiliar request from the way she asked.

“From Agape. That’s all.” He smiled and laughed with her when she laughed, waving as he took a step back. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, ‘Agape!’”

He turned to head down the way, pausing again as he remembered what else he wanted to ask. Cupping his hands around his face, Victor shouted back toward the door guard. “When’s he performing next?”

Tucking the rose in one arm while she reached for the door handle, the woman paused, turning her head toward Victor. With a grunt, she cupped her free hand around the side of her mouth and shouted the answer back to what was doubtlessly another soft hearted horny young fool. “Day after tomorrow!”

“Thank you!”

Victor smiled to himself as he continued on toward home. Two nights until he might have his chance to speak with the man behind Eros, and maybe, in the process, start to get a lead on his own _eros_. It couldn’t be a worse plan than going to a pleasure house only to end up comforting the man who’d selected him for the evening and tucking him into an early bed.

Right?


	3. victor finds courting appeals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired, Victor decides to try courting Eros. No one really takes him seriously.

Two days later Victor stood outside the same florist he’d rushed into on a last minute whim, tapping a finger against his chin. A flower should be able to last the length of an evening, shouldn’t it? He’d had plenty tossed to him before, but all those tended to be while he was representing Agape. At that point they were considered offerings to the god of love. Victor only helped haul them back for use in boiling down for floral waters or for baking, depending on the flower. Some were washed and later served as part of the meals offered at the main temple.

The rest he’d given were all part of the festivals in the city, part of the flirtations or offerings in each celebration. None of those had needed to last past the moment of gifting. A few he’d pressed between wood blocks when he’d been younger, hoping to preserve memories; he had one or two still tucked away on a shelf in the temple.

Now this, the deliberate gifting of a flower as an overture, was new for him. It’d felt like the right expression two nights before, and even as he ceased speculating to step inside the florist's shoppe, the feeling of rightness persisted.

“Don’t touch the petals,” the woman behind the counter stressed, enunciation clear and concise. “The oils on our hands make them brown faster that way. Keep the clay around the base of the flower, and keep it wrapped until you’re ready for the gifting. Understood?”

He nodded, keeping his expression focused. He was a little amused by the way she watched him, as if she couldn’t decide if he was paying attention or not. “Keep my hands off the petals, keep the flower wrapped, keep the stem wet. Is there anything else?”

She huffed, leaning forward to plant her elbows on the counter. Her smile was almost sly, arms crossing in front of her. “Remember to cut the stem about a hand’s width higher before you put it into fresh water. It’ll help it last for longer. Past that, get out of here. Should you be keeping whoever you’re paying respects to waiting?”

Victor laughed, lifting his shoulders in a vague shrug. Wrapped rose cradled in one arm, he cheerfully stepped back out into the early evening, weaving his way through the thin crowd on the street. He knew where he was heading, eyes bright and alive with anticipation. Questions about how one _did_ manage to meet any of the performers face to face danced around in the back of his mind. Asking seemed straightforward: people refused or accepted based on their own reasonings or curiosity. Here it wasn’t like it had to be in the temple for the initiates of Agape, veiled in public or when working for public goods, unveiled in private or when out on private business. Not that many of those younger initiates had private business. By the time most did, they weren’t part of the Agape Sect any longer.

He brushed the thought off, smiling at the same woman standing by the door to the establishment as two nights before. “Hello!”

She watched him for a moment, snorting and shaking her head. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t feel as imposing as she had at first. “Hello, Agape.”

He smiled, eyes closing as he tucked the humour of that appellation away. What was a joke to this woman was a less funny joke to him in ways, but it was either claim it or feel claimed by it. “You remembered.”

“Good jests are worth remembering.” She jerked her head toward the wrapped flower cradled in his arm. “Same for tonight?”

Victor smiled, a touch more genuine than before. At least she liked the joke, however little she understood the levels behind it. He dug out the small paper placard buried under the wrapped flower, holding it between two fingers for the woman to read. _For Eros, from Agape._ “Same for tonight. Is there anyone inside I should hand this off to to make sure it gets to him?”

Shaking her head again, she motioned him through the door. “Ask at the bar. He should know.”

“Thank you, I will!” Victor started in, pausing with one foot over the threshold. He leaned his head back, quirking up his eyebrows. “What’s your name?”

A long evaluating look met his question. He waited, the handful of people waiting behind him grumbling good naturedly. “Nikki,” she said at last. “Now get yourself inside before I drag you back out for being a nuisance.”

He gave her a cheerful, sunny wave as he disappeared inside with a laugh, repeating her name over and over in his head. There was a better chance than most that he’d remember her name.

The room was more crowded tonight than it had been the first time, tables and chairs claimed closer to the stage. Eros performed last, preceded by four acts, he learned from a glance at the event board by the front. 

He fell in behind two women lingering at the bar, idly watching as the barkeep finished pouring out their drinks. He sent them off with a smile, turning to look toward Victor after the woman moved away. 

“Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping so! Nikki said I should ask you about a delivery backstage?”

The barkeep blinked, turning his head toward the door and narrowing his eyes. “Nikki did, huh?” Shaking his head, he planted a hand on his hip. “Yuuko usually takes care of running things back if people aren’t just tossing them up on stage. She’s cleaning the corner tables right now if you want to ask. Anything else?”

“One of whatever tonight’s special is would be great.” Victor flashed him another smile, reaching into a pocket to pull out enough to cover the cost of the drink and then some. “What’s your name?”

The barkeep reached out, picking up the coins and tucking them away out of sight. “Cao Bin.”

“Cao Bin. I’ll be back to grab that drink after I talk with Yuuko. Thanks!”

He was off before seeing if Cao Bin acknowledged what he said. 

With only one person cleaning tables anywhere in the Ice Palace, it was easy to find Yuuko. Victor had his best smile in place, eyes bright with a baseless hope. “Would you happen to be Yuuko? Cao Bin said I should speak with a Yuuko about deliveries to the performers.” He jostled his arm gently, drawing her attention to the wrapped flower resting there.

She straightened, turning her wrist to rest the back of her hand against her hip so the damp towel she held didn’t rest against her leg. Her smile was ready and friendly. “You found me. Who did you want deflowering you?” Humour sparked in her eyes, brows draw delicately up and lips pursed in a definite smile of amusement.

Victor found himself laughing, his heart giving a lurch. What was surely a joke was perhaps too close to home, but he was also involved with it for once. “Eros, as it is.” He glanced down to the wrapped rose, slipping the small placard out again with two fingers. Offering it over to Yuuko for her to read, he studied her face in turn. Younger than he was, he guessed; she had a friendly demeanour. Pleasant, in a way he didn’t pin down. 

“From Agape?” Her eyebrows hiked up in surprise, glancing up to study Victor’s face once again. He offered a hint of a shrug, but no explanation.

Curiosity had her folding the placard into her hand, not yet reaching for the rose. 

“You don’t want to toss it up on stage after he performs? He’ll still get it that way, if you were worried about that.”

Victor shook his head, gaze falling back to the wrapped rose. “It’s not for the performance.”

She waited for him to go on. Victor caught on after a moment, offering a wry smile. “It’s for Eros.”

The humour returned to her eyes. “You almost sound like you want to court him.”

Victor glanced up, lips curling up in a small and happy way. Yuuko sounded like she was jesting again, but jest or not, she’d put words to what he’d been feeling. “Courtship’s a desire to know someone better, isn’t it?” He held out the rose, eyes capturing Yuuko’s. “So yes. I suppose I am courting Eros.”

For a second it looked like she might not accept the flower. Her hand came up, taking hold, tucking it against her shoulder. “Agape courting Eros.” She smiled, shaking her head, still not taking him seriously. “You have a wicked sense of humour, you know that?”

“Oh,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, hands turned palm up, “I’ve heard that a time or two before.” His smile was guileless, Yuuko waving him off with a flick of the towel in her other hand.

“Go! I’ll make sure he gets your rose.”

Cao Bin had a drink waiting when Victor swung back by the bar, nudging the glass across the counter. Victor picked it up, admiring the rich amber of the liquid within; he quirked an eyebrow to Cao Bin. “Whiskey?”

He smiled, a crooked curve of his lips. “A surprise. Enjoy.”

The crowd had been steadily growing, taking up even those tables Yuuko had been cleaning. Victor looked for anywhere open, spotting a place toward the middle of the long tables. Friendly greetings were about the extent of his socialising before he slid himself into the open space, the men on either side adjusting to give him a little more room. Conversations resumed without Victor attempting to intrude. He wasn’t here to socialise, falling into contemplation as the sound of the crowd ebbed and flowed around him.

Snippets of conversations caught his attention before it slipped away again; one woman down the way was celebrating the birth of her granddaughter, the man to his right was here on recommendation of a mutual friend of his two lovers, the reassurance of someone down the table that all the performers were inspiring, Eros simply tended to take the lead.

“He’s on last again, like the usual.” Victor glanced up to try and pinpoint who’d spoken. He caught sight of them down the table, turning to talk over their shoulder to the people sitting across the table from them. “He’s only on earlier in the night when there’s some sort of scheduling conflict, or a last minute rearrangement. Gets disheartening if your audience clears out after the act before you hits the stage,” they said, lifting their glass. 

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Victor set down his glass, fingertips pressed against its sides. He had yet to take a sip. 

The speaker laughed, turning so more of their torso was properly facing away from the stage. “I helped fill in with stage management for the Ice Castle last year. Normally I work over at the Autumn House.”

“Everything in their own season,” Victor said, lifting his glass and tipping it toward them. “Was it as crowded on performance nights last year as it seems to be tonight?”

They raised their mug in return, setting it back in their lap after. “Depended on the time of year. Eros isn’t the only crowd draw they have here, but he tends to pull a consistent clientele.”

“Fans of his dancing?”

“And everything else.” They laughed, glancing back toward stage. The announcer still hadn’t stepped forward. They turned back, resting their elbow on the table as they made eye contact with Victor. Their smile softened almost automatically, moving Victor from _desirous_ to _admiring_ in their own mind. “He meets with some of them one on one every so often, but I don’t think anyone hears much about what he does outside of stage persona. He’s a pretty private guy. You get a mix of that, the big personalities and the private ones.”

Victor nodded, eyes moving toward the stage. The announcer had started sauntering out, heading for center stage. “By necessity or choice, or both.”

Their brow furrowed, but any question they might have asked was sidelined when the announcer called out for everyone’s attention. The crowd’s hubbub subsided until an anticipatory silence settled over the room, several minutes of hushing and bursts of laughter.

Then it was on with the show.

* * *

Midway through the second act he remembered to try his drink, swirling the amber liquid and drawing a sip onto his tongue. Not great if he’d planned on actually enjoying alcohol tasting that night, but as his eyes tracked the mimicry on stage, his tongue tried discerning what Cao Bin had concocted. He’d expected more of a burn, but it was smooth; clearly mixed when he couldn’t identify a singular flavour but instead a pleasing cross with a hint of cinnamon. Spicy, with an unexpectedly sweet aftertaste. The pleasant heat flowing down his throat and coiling in his stomach left him warm, almost cosie. Distractible thoughts came back around to focus on the stage as the performers strutted away, the audience breaking into applause that he joined on reflex.

His hands fell back to the table, fingers curling around his glass. _Eros_ was, theoretically, about the overwhelming, the passionate. Losing a sense of self in something spontaneous, embracing a physicality and seeing where the moment took them. Long or short, he’d seen it play out around him. What did someone who danced under the name of _Eros_ look for? Why that name, why here, in a place called Ice Castle? How did Eros himself relate to the aspect of love that _eros_ encompassed?

He shook off the scattered thoughts as the next performer took center stage, an attractive young woman in flowing silks. Without meeting Eros himself, without learning more about him, none of Victor’s questions had answers. Or answers that weren’t fanciful fabrications on his part.

Victor leaned forward, elbows aching where they pressed into the unforgiving wood of the table. Curiosity mingled with the warmth flowing through his veins, anticipation building. He wanted to know. He wanted answers to those questions, and whatever other ones he found. All for what? A man who moved like the music was an extension of himself, who titillated and thrilled his audience from behind the ornate lace of a mask and his own near-nudity?

Smiling, Victor lifted his glass to his lips. What about _eros_ was supposed to be clear-cut or logical? He swallowed down his questions along with the smooth cinnamon of his unnamed drink. No point dithering around the shallows. He’d throw himself in and sink or swim along the way. There were no guarantees, not even that Eros would ever grant him the time of day.

It was so wonderfully normal Victor found himself laughing as he set down his glass, joining in the applause for the fourth act. The three men who’d been dancing had a wonderful sense of rhythm and comedy; between what he’d seen and the shouts of approval from the people in the room, it was a shared consensus. Flowers, money, and what looked like cards were tossed up on the stage, one of the help bustling out to collect them all while the musicians took a break. Those with friends to hold their spaces made rounds to the bar, the room lapsing into quiet chatter and the occasional burst of laughter, quickly hushed.

Misleading when everyone would be cheering and applauding once Eros was on stage, but it felt appropriate, somehow. The anticipation called for a certain quiet, a moment where everyone seemed to hold their breath, balanced on an edge. Then the announcer strode forth, tipping the balance, calling out Eros’ name as the crowded room cheered in response.

The music wove into the cheers, the beat and melody carrying an energy that left Victor tapping his foot under the table. He loved dancing to music like this, though to different effect. He wanted to see what Eros would do, how he would move: and then, as suddenly as a breath, he knew.

Eros was captivating, dark hair combed back and glistening, the lace weave of his mask once again black, but for the red encircling his eyes. Dressed in blacks and reds, everything clung tight, accentuating the way Eros moved across the stage. 

With a single chair on stage as a prop, Eros compelled everyone’s attention. Victor far from alone in finding his breath catching when Eros straddled the chair, rolling his hips forward to scoot closer to its back. His back arched with the music, lips curling into a knowing grin as he looked over his shoulder. He brought a gloved hand to his lips, blowing a kiss to raucous approval. 

Victor shivered, the energy of the crowd electric against his skin. There was a playfulness here, a give and take between Eros and the people in his audience that he enjoyed, when he could convince himself to look away. Smiles on faces, cheers and whistles and calls that might have been rude if they weren’t solicited. Here even the more lascivious cries still avoided being outright crude.

His attention returned to the man on stage, noting he’d slid back out of the chair and was posing in front of it now. Eros brought his gloved hand to his mouth, lips parting so he could tease the tip of each finger between his teeth, tugging on the glove’s material. His hand fell down to splay open-fingered over his chest. Eros cocked his hip, smiling as he pulled his glove off by the middle finger with one hand, pulling his arm back and bending forward as he arched his back. It was lyrical, something Victor wouldn’t have readily believed until he’d seen it in action. The revealing of his hand feeling like much more, bared fingers and the turn of a wrist that exposed a palm incredibly intimate.

His laughing exhalation was swallowed by cheers from the crowd, people thoroughly enjoying themselves as Eros made his larger than life way across the stage. He twirled his glove by his hip, an artfully careless motion before he let go, sending it flying over his shoulder with a flick of his fingers. He repeated the process with his remaining glove, tugging at each fingertip with his teeth as he sauntered his way toward center stage.

Victor tapped one finger against his glass as the show went on, keeping time to the music as Eros did. There was no point denying his wandering thoughts, the fascination as Eros ran his hands down his thigh, over his knee, caressing his calf as he pulled a sheer stocking down. Victor wanted to follow the same pathway, feel warm skin and firm muscle, explore as he liked and give pleasure as much as he was receiving it. If not with Eros, then with _some_ one, but while it was simple to admit to the physical attraction, it was more difficult to pin down the curiosity that went past lace and leather and clever fingers teasing at ties and strings.

He applauded with the rest as Eros sauntered offstage, slipping between the curtains with a backward, teasing wave of bare fingers. _Who is he? Where did he learn to dance like that?_

Then, more curious, _has he seen about moving on to any of the bigger stages?_ Eros by trade-name, Victor wondered if he’d ever applied as an initiate to the Eros Sector, or if he was already amoung their number.

_I don’t know that he is. Eros, just who are you?_

There was no one to answer that question, and as the stage hands picked up the flowers and the rest tossed on stage to mingle with what Eros has stripped off during his show, Victor picked up his drink and started sipping on it, relaxing into a quiet contemplation of flavour as he cooled down.

People laughed and mingled and left, by themselves, in pairs, in groups. The musicians were on break again, likely to return and play as they liked for the people that lingered to enjoy each other’s company and the well stocked bar.

Victor stood and made his way to one of the smaller tables off to the side, sliding into the taller chair and setting his glass down. Even breaking down the elements of what Eros did on stage didn’t string things together in a way that would work for Victor; he was still tempted to try, to see how people were blind to his intentions, seeing what wasn’t there instead of what was. For once, the thought barely rankled. His curiosity about Eros, both the niggling fantasies he knew would likely parade through his dreams tonight and the larger mystery of who the other man really was. What else did he do? What dance styles did he know? He was in far too good of shape to have it be explained by anything he did on the stage here at the Ice Castle. 

Did he dance to everything with the music moving through him, an extension of everything he did? Was he as mesmerising in every form of dance he enjoyed? What other kinds did he like?

What would it be like, to run his fingers through Eros’s hair? What did his hair even look like, when it wasn’t slicked back and slowly falling into disarray, somehow both appealing and endearing without being at odds with each other. Victor sighed, sitting back and lifting his glass to the stage.

“To Eros, and everything else he may be.” He drained the glass in one long swallow, enjoying the spice and heat as it flowed over his tongue and down his throat.

He caught sight of movement to his right, the chair next to him pulled out as Yuuko slid into the seat.

“Delivery successful. Before the show and everything.”

He smiled, lifting his empty glass and tipping it her direction. “My hero.” Turning his wrist to hold the glass in his palm, his eyes drifted toward the empty stage. Lights were being dimmed now; pinks fading into blacks and icy blues. Lovely filters, whatever they used here. “Is it presuming too much to ask for your help again tomorrow?”

She settled back in her chair, studying his face. “You’re really going to follow through on this courtship thing?”

He turned her way, expression neutral. She hadn’t sounded disapproving. Only curious.

“Yes.” No explanations, no justifications. He smiled again after a moment, softening his expression. “I really am.” 

Lapsing into mutual, comfortable silence, they both watched the darkened stage as voices rose and fell around them.

“I don’t mind delivering flowers.”

He tipped his head her way, forming a noise of acknowledgement in the back of his throat. Goodwill flooded through him, the sense of _agape_ he inspired in others washing over him in a gentle, warm way. “Thank you.” 

* * *

He spent more time than he expected talking with Yuuko, learning about her husband and amazed by her three little girls. Triplets were a blessing (and a curse she said with a laugh, sounding none too serious) from the gods, though with as many offerings as her husband had left in every temple he possibly believed could help while she was pregnant, they had no idea who they needed to thank.

“Eros is the most likely of the aspects,” she said, “If it wasn’t Love themselves.” In the tangled network of temples and gods and their sub-temples in each aspect, Victor could only nod. He understood too well.

His surprise by the time he took his leave, saying goodnight to Yuuko, waving to Cao Bin, then exchanging meaningful nods with Nikki, wasn’t that Eros hadn’t reached out to him that evening. Two days and two flowers was laughable by anyone’s standards. His surprise circled around how much he’d enjoyed himself overall, from his experience as part of the audience to his appreciation of Yuuko and her easy conversation. His curiosity over her family hadn’t needed feigning; she had a way of talking about them all that made her endearment obvious without forgiving the flaws and challenges of raising children within a two-adult working household.

He wasn’t used to that perspective. Most his childhood was scattered memories before he was an initiate. After, it’d both mattered more and less. Initiates were raised as a whole, a decently fed, working sort of orphanage that gave purpose and guidance to children and young people who might otherwise have had nowhere else to turn.

He took Makkachin for a walk through the temple gardens, letting her greet the people they came across. In casual clothes, Victor might have been anybody; the eldest of the initiates knew, the priests and priestesses from the other sects knew. To the world that didn’t see the narrow room he returned to most nights, Victor was just a presence of good will in their periphery. 

“There are so many different kinds of families, aren’t there?” Makkachin wagged her tail, leaving her head on his arm as they curled up to sleep. “I wonder how many a person can be a part of in one lifetime.”

She grunted, and he laughed, pulling her close. “All right, all right, no more talking. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will include Yuuri's POV at last!


	4. backstage pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is pulled backstage to help Yuuko, meeting Eros in passing. Yuuri puts on his bath-tub performance as Eros and invites Victor up to his narrow changing room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we get to meet Yuuri and see some of this story from his POV!

Victor adjusted to the new pattern in his life, checking schedules at the Ice Castle with Yuuko or Nikki, visiting the florist down the street and purchasing his single rose, writing the same note by hand each time. _To Eros, From Agape._ On the backside, he started writing additional little remarks. _Have you ever seen the wisteria tunnels in the Temple of Gaea’s gardens in full bloom?_ ; _Basalt’s Patisserie makes the most incredible Bee Sting Cake; The Temple of Wind has a chime shrine they set up in the summer, I wonder how it sounds in the afternoon breeze._

Not all questions, not all statements. He wrote his one way letters and found he enjoyed sharing the nonsense of his thoughts with an audience that might not be reading a single thing he put to words. If Yuuko did, she didn’t say.

By the seventh rose, Victor counted his luck in being able to manage his obligations as a good sign. He’d only needed to stop by in the early afternoon one time before, Nikki waving him on with a roll of her eyes and an amused snort when he showed up again far before opening. Yuuko was bustling around backstage, Cao Bin still nowhere to be found. There was a younger man behind the bar polishing mugs and glasses, ready with a toothy-smile, but his voice felt overloud in a quieter space, and Victor excused himself to wait elsewhere. It didn’t stop the young man from checking in, either calling out across the room or winding his way between tables to hover over where Victor sat.

“So, you’re Agape?” 

Victor looked up from where he sat, thoughts elsewhere.

“Pardon?”

“You’re excused.” 

Victor lifted his eyebrows minutely, saying nothing. Before the bartender managed to start into whatever had drawn him over, Yuuko was hurrying onstage.

“JJ, will you help me—oh good, Agape, you’re here! JJ, keep an eye on the front room, please. Agape, can you help me backstage?”

He was on his feet and sweeping the flower back into the crook of his arm without pause, inclining his head toward the bartender—JJ?—before calling out his answer. “Sure!” Bracing his hand on the stage, he leapt up with a dancer’s grace, wrapped flower resting against the curve of his neck. “Anyplace safe to leave this while I’m helping?”

“We’ll find someplace. This way!”

Victor’s curiosity had him looking around as he followed her back, off the side of the stage and into the larger room behind it. Props and set-pieces lined the walls, snug to each other and shoved back out of the way. Racks of clothing were arranged in coordinated chaos under a staircase, several well-lit metal-beaten mirrors at the far wall over a smooth wooden counter cluttered with personal effects. Two young women from another act were sewing on feathers to half-skirts, lifting their heads as Yuuko slipped past and staring after Victor. They smiled, waved, then fell back to their work. Whatever interest he stirred was shorter lived in the face of what needed doing.

“I’m not sure how we’re going to maneuver this thing out of where it’s been sitting. Takeshi was supposed to do this last week, we all just forgot about it.” 

About to ask what, movement along the wall caught his attention. A door inset in the wall opened, a breeze stealing in alongside the young man pulling it closed behind him. “Hey, Yuuko,” he said, nodding toward her while he turned. He pulled up short as Victor moved to the side, giving him ample room to pass.

Wearing a knit hat over black hair trying to escape in every which direction below its brim, the man stood there, staring blankly at Victor. Victor smiled in reflex, the small upcurve of his lips an acknowledgement. _I see that you see me too_. Yet the niggling familiarity meant Victor didn’t follow quick on Yuuko’s heels, her returned “Hello!” passing over him as it did the other man. In that moment where he studied him, the shape of his face, the curve of his unpainted lips, the way he held himself, intuition struck. Victor had worn a disguise most his adult life when it came to his work; a stage name, in a way, simplified down to the one he’d been using here. _Agape._ It wasn’t so difficult to recognise someone else who lived the same way.

Victor’s smile broadened as unexpected happiness bloomed in his chest. “Here,” he said, handing him the wrapped flower and note. “This is for you. I said I’d help Yuuko—” he gestured on to where she’d disappeared down the way. “I should catch up. I’m glad I was able to give this to you in person. See you later?” He waved, question in his eyes, stepping lighter after Yuuko, silly grin in place. He glanced over his shoulder twice as he made his way down the hall, surprised at the fortuitous of it all, pleased at the happenstance.

He thought he heard a faint, “Thanks” at his back, but Yuuko called out again, and Victor stumbled into a step-stool exactly at shin height. Clicking his tongue at the sudden, sharp pain, he hopped sideways, catching his balance with his arms flung out. Victor hopped once more, bending forward to rub at his shin before he shook off the edge of his pain and picked up his pace, catching up with Yuuko. Even if he’d been inclined to turn away from a request for aid after a lifetime that had ensured he was primed to help where he could, he liked Yuuko. 

Realistically speaking, there was nothing to say that Eros even _wanted_ Victor around. Either he would, or he wouldn’t. Victor made his own interest plain. Eros might not even be interested in men, though Victor believed Yuuko would have been kind enough to have told him if that were the case. For all he suspected she had her own amusement out of this, she wasn’t cruel. It’d serve no purpose to foster expectations that could never bear fruit.

Then again, he should question her sense of humour. Staring down into the claw-foot bathtub she was pointing toward, Victor lifted his eyebrows. “This is a tub.”

“Yep.”

“A bathtub.”

“In decent condition, too.”

“We’re moving a bathtub?”

Yuuko rolled up her sleeves, flashing him a challenge of a smile. “Yep! We need it as a stage prop tonight.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious he knew the answer to his next question. “For which performance?”

Yuuko didn’t bother hiding the amusement in her eyes. “Eros.” She patted the rim of the tub, sidling around the near side.

“You are a wily, wily woman.” Victor shook his head, situating himself at the back of the tub, figuring he was meant to take the heavier end of things. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She leaned forward, brow furrowing, smile still in place. “What happened to your flower?”

“Ah, I managed to give that to Eros when he slipped in the door. Are we taking this directly out on stage?”

Yuuko stared at him, blinking. “You… what?”

Victor glanced up, fingers feeling for a good grip on the lip of the tub. “Was that a poor decision?”

“No, it’s not that.” She laughed, dismissing whatever it was that had startled her in the first place. “Let’s get this thing moved.”

With a concentrated effort, pushing, pulling, and lifting where appropriate, they managed to do exactly that.

* * *

Yuuri arrived early for every show-night, hating being rushed enough that he gave himself the time to prepare at his leisure. From stretching and warm ups to handling his own hair and make-up, it was almost a form of meditation, a lengthy way of sinking into the persona he used on stage.

New faces backstage usually didn’t bother him, let alone those intent on some task or another. Yuuko and Takeshi had several part-time workers who helped out as stagehands, and a part-time stage manager who handled most things when they couldn’t. By and large people left him alone, and while he didn’t always need or even crave that space, it made for a certain reliability in his experiences at the Ice Castle.

Particularly when he’d worked here as a stagehand in the past himself.

What he hadn’t expected was to find himself facing a light-haired stranger and his ready smile, one that went from polite to outright warm for no apparent reason. Or how that same stranger had held out a wrapped flower; a rose in the same packaging as the ones that’d been brought back by Yuuko the last handful of shows. All six previous times. Yuuri’d kept count, undecided of what to make of the most recent development.

He hadn’t tried looking for Agape in the audience. The name, as assumed as his own on stage, had felt like a jest at his expense. Agape? Sending a rose to Eros? There was a backwardness to that logic that had him setting aside the placard that’d come with it and putting it out of mind. 

Or so he’d thought. By the time Yuuko had brought the third rose with the same signed placard, this time with an additional sentiment penned on the back, Yuuri realised he hadn’t bothered to throw the roses themselves away. He’d used a knife to cut off the base of the stems and arranged them in a borrowed jug with the vague idea that he’d pluck the petals when the flowers started fading, drying them out for later use in making rose water. 

People had been infatuated with his stage presence before. It’d taken a few awkward and uncomfortable encounters with people thinking that meant they were infatuated with the _man_ running into Yuuri’s own stubborn willpower and his passions off-stage to drive home that Eros looked easy and uncomplicated; he offered a teasing glimpse of something desirable, without any of the complications that came along with being human. Yuuri wasn’t easy and uncomplicated. He knew that, and really, didn’t try to apologise for it. Explaining how he could be a mess of stage fright before he stepped out under those lights hadn’t been worth it. Trying to explain how it’d been worse when he’d truly danced just as himself in the last few years was even harder.

Which was part of the point of Eros, at least his take on the self he presented as Eros. Entertainment and fantasy. Titillation and distance. He didn’t need to invite anyone close, and no one really had to learn who Yuuri was, behind the stage name. 

All in all, it meant one more stranger sending notes with flowers didn’t have to mean anything.

Meeting Agape, on the other hand, was surprising. Yuuko had described him in brief, so he knew he was tall enough (taller than her at least), that he had light coloured hair, and that, in her words, “he dresses nicely.” He hadn’t expected the vivid blue of his eyes, the warmth of his smile, or the quality of his voice. Yuuri would listen to that man read legal treatises all day if he were so inclined; his voice had that compelling quality.

There was a disjointed moment where Yuuri found _everything_ about him compelling. He was handsome, certainly, but as Yuuri mumbled thanks after Agape, he was entranced by the way the man moved. A thought that persisted as Agape walked into a stool; Yuuri shook his head, looking away, the moment slipping away from him. He headed toward the stairs out of habit, climbing upward to the open landing, turning automatically to open the door to his dressing area.

The borrowed jug with its six roses sat on his narrow counter. He set the newest addition down, teasing out the card tucked into the paper wrappings.

_To Eros, From Agape._ Flipping it over, he read, _I hear that when you escape the lights of the city, you can see thousands of stars streaking across the night sky come early winter. Sounds amazing! I want to see it._

A flight of fancy, but as Yuuri teased the rose free of its wrappings and cut off the last few centimeters of its stem, the thought still had him smiling. More and more, every handwritten addition on the back sounded like an invitation.

In a span of two weeks, it also felt like almost too much. Just how in the world had Agape recognised him, _plain_ old him, regular Yuuri without the makeup and the stage presence to give himself away?

Why did it leave him smiling, flattered and nervous? Pre-show jitters, even hours off. Yuuri slipped the new rose in with the rest, promising to harvest the petals from the first tomorrow, or after the show. Set them out to dry at home and be one step closer to his rose water.

Water.

_Oh, shit._ Yuuri rubbed his face, groaning as he remembered. Tonight’s program was supposed to be the bathtime piece. That’s what he’d asked for Takeshi to arrange two weeks ago, when he’d been looking at his current set of performances and lining up his schedule for the next few months. Bringing back the bathtime piece was a bid for shaking up expectations; and a favourite, when he could be bothered to get wet and soapy on stage. _I forgot that was tonight._

He pulled off his hat, setting it on the counter, then folded away the paper the rose had been wrapped in. He could use it again later. Right now he needed to find where he’d stashed his water resistant rouge. 

* * *

Hours later, Yuuri leaned forward to stare at his reflection in the glass, thankful for the small mirror that let him properly see his stage makeup after application. This close, he didn’t even need to squint.

He was ready, from his hair arranged in an artful disarray that was far closer to how it naturally fell than usual to being properly stretched out, warmed up, and as close to mentally prepped as he figured he’d be tonight. He had his glass with the bubbling wine fizzing merrily by his elbow; he caught the stem up in his fingers, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a fortifying swallow.

His nerves were singing tonight, keyed up and running through disaster scenarios of tripping on stage, of slipping in the tub, of ending up knocking himself out through mischance and giving everyone he cared about a heart attack due to his own sudden brush with clumsiness. It had yet to happen, but shutting down the circling of thoughts toward more and more worse case scenarios took effort. The effervescence of the sparkling wine helped him feel a little more effervescent himself.

He pulled on the silk robe with the circling koi on the back, rich blues and greens fading into warmer pinks at his sleeves, collar, and toward his feet. He loved the feeling of silk on his skin, creeping down the stairs while listening to the muffled music and noise of the crowd. Knowing where to step left his passage quiet, the old wooden stairs silent as he reached the ground level. Charlie and Dun slipped back through the curtains, hurrying for their robes to bundle up, flashing each other smiles and laughing.

“Good crowd tonight,” Dun said, flashing Yuuri a grin. “Chatty.”

“Hope that bathwater’s warm, Eros!” 

He didn’t really hear them, registering his stage name and responding with a distracted glance; waggling his fingers in an approximation of a wave. “Yeah,” he said, figuring it was a general enough answer to whatever they’d said.

Takeshi strode toward the claw-foot bathtub with two metal buckets in hand. Catching sight of Yuuri hanging around, he snorted, lifting his buckets so they were level with his waist. “Nice and warm, almost close to hot. How many bubbles are you wanting tonight?”

“Enough to bathe with, not enough to play around with foam.” 

“Right, got it.” Setting one bucket down, Takeshi dumped the other in the tub.

Yuuri kept moving, diverting to the long counters to pick up a washcloth. He draped it over the lip of the bath while Takeshi was tracking down another stage hand for set-up. He dropped down into a stretch, robe pulled up and twisted around to rest over his hip. Standing, Yuuri rolled his shoulders, noted the bath had been brought out on stage, breathed in, breathed out. The electric anticipation that came bundled with his nerves before each performance bubbled through his veins like the sparkling wine from earlier.

He loved it. Slipping between the curtains, moving to the music, knowing this stage was about what he gave to a willing audience, and just that. It didn’t appease his sense of competitiveness, though he admitted each time he seemed to pull a larger response from the audience than everyone else performing on a given night it gave him a sense of satisfaction. But he loved this, the sense of confidence he felt when he slipped out of being only Yuuri and pulled on Eros like a comfortable, particularly scandalous blanket.

He walked across the stage, and he _belonged_ there.

He curled his lips in a knowing smile, peering through his lashes at the audience as he posed, fingers playing with the ties of his robe. _Not yet_ , was the enduring tease; the form of flirtation closest to his heart, no give and take that needed words. Action was simpler. No tongue to trip over, only his feet, and his feet were much better trained for staying well grounded. Usually he lost himself in that performance space, feeling the audience as a warmth and collection of sounds, knowing they watched, that he held their attention so that they wouldn’t, couldn’t, look away.

Tonight a face intruded in his mind, a formless audience gaining shape. Agape, with his surprisingly blue eyes, the light shade of his hair, the way it fell forward across half his face. He was watching, wasn’t he? Of course he was.

It was another level of awareness that stuck like a burr in the back of his mind. When Eros shrugged out of his robe, letting it fall to mid back before catching the material with his arms; teasing a glimpse up his leg toward his thigh; finally turning around and his robe flowing off him to pool around his feet.

In the water, it was a stray thought as he lifted his leg high, squeezing water over it when he wrung out the washcloth to cheers and whistles. A sensuous pass of the cloth over his leg lead to a repeat with his other leg; he stretched his arms out to either side with his back to the audience, fingers trailing over the lip of the tub as he pantomimed relaxation. _Are you watching? Do you enjoy what you see?_ He knew he had good shoulders, just like he knew he had a good ass. Physical details weren’t the ones he tripped over, though he licked his lips as he imagined blue eyes intent upon his hands as he lifted the washcloth and wrung it out over his throat, head tossed back, eyes closed, mouth open.

Eros made the decision as he stood, sending a smile over his shoulder while a stagehand met him with a heavier, white robe. Fluffy and warm; that was all Yuuko’s touch. He walked off stage without looking back, smile lingering until he caught Yuuko’s eye. She gave him a thumbs up, beaming, and he nodded, satisfied. Riding the high, he stopped by her side, fiddling with the tie of his robe.

“Would you bring him up tonight?”

“Agape?” Her brow furrowed as she studied Yuuri’s face. He was always Yuuri to her; growing up on the same street and getting entangled in the same hobbies lent them a certain familiarity. “You’re ready to talk with him? He’s sweet,” she said, expression smoothing out. “I think you’ll like this one.”

Yuuri nodded, fingers digging into the tie of his robe. He made his hands go still, hoping that’d extend his temporary oasis of calm. “Sure, right. Maybe. We’ll see.”

She patted his shoulder as she headed off, Yuuri offering a reflexive smile. When he made his way of the stairs, he pulled the confidence he felt as Eros tight around himself. It was who Agape was here to meet, after all. 

Yuuri poured himself another glass of sparkling wine inside his changing room. He slipped out of his fluffy bathrobe, turning to face the standing rack of his hanging wardrobe. _Let’s get this over with._

* * *

Victor was perfectly content not to move in the wake of Eros’s performance. He’d managed to land a place at one of the small round tables, meaning fewer people sharing the same space. Both had already stood and made their way toward the bar; whether or not they stuck it out dealing with the guy behind the bar remained to be seen.

Either way, it meant Victor was alone at his table, firmly seated and just as firmly sure he was going to stay seated for a while yet when Yuuko materialised from the crowd, dressed in black. 

“Agape! Thank you for helping out earlier tonight. It was worth it, right?” She winked, Victor startled into laughter.

“It was, but you knew that already. Eros is good at what he does.”

She nodded, arms draped over the back of a chair. “You should see him dance,” she said, biting down on her lip after, glancing away.

_She didn’t mean to say that much_. 

“I’d love to, sometime. Dance is something I’m fond of myself.” 

Yuuko took the offered chance to change subjects with both hands, her eyes returning to Victor’s face. “You dance? Professionally?”

He tapped his fingers lightly against the table, inclining his head toward her. “Depends on what you call professional, but yes, I have in the past.” He would in the future, too, but it wasn’t in his capacity as head initiate of the Agape Sect. Work for his sect was considered one of his duties, and as the temple took care of feeding and clothing him and the other initiates, it was unpaid. All the work he took on outside of his duties earned him an income of his own, one he’d largely used to find himself an identity outside of his blessed existence under Agape’s roof.

“It’s not exactly dancing, but you know, in another two weeks we have an amaeture night here at the Ice Castle. It’s a chance for our performers to be part of the audience. Relaxed and for fun, that kind of thing.”

She didn’t ask if he was interested in performing in burlesque; he would have been surprised if she did. The essential element of _eros_ he lacked would make it into something of a joke; ah, but comedy...

He was slow to smile. “Is that an invitation?”

“More a heads up. Eros always likes watching those shows. They’re pretty fun, even if it there isn’t much dancing. Unless you wanted to change that.”

“Mm, I’ll think about it.” He had an idea taking form in the back of his mind, remembering his own thoughts about people handing him back clothing if he stripped himself down. “Thanks for telling me. I’d seen the poster, but I guess it never registered.” To no surprise, given the disaster it’d be if he tried to seriously portray _eros_.

“You’re welcome! I felt like you’d be more interested if you knew it was something Eros came to for his own reasons. Speaking of…” She raised her eyebrows, waiting to see that she had all of Victor’s attention before continuing. “He offered to meet you, if you had time tonight.”

_Again. He offered to meet me again._ He caught hold of his excitement to tame it into a jump in his heart rate and a flash of a genuine, happy smile. “I have time! I definitely have time.”

Yuuko smiled in return, leaning back, away from the chair. “Great! Come on, I’ll show you the way. He should be ready for company by now.”

Victor tugged his coat off the back of his chair, folding it over his arm to follow after Yuuko. He didn’t need it to help make his own response to tonight’s show less obvious; they’d been speaking for long enough things had calmed down. The anticipation leaving his fingertips tingling was something else altogether. 

Backstage looked about the same as earlier, costumes and set pieces shifted around, the bathtub back and pulled out of the way. Water was being drained into a low container shoved up underneath it, the stagehand responsible watching the water level drop down.

Yuuko walked to the stairs, taking them ahead of Victor with good cheer. “Don’t worry about the creaking. The wood’s older, but the construction’s sound.”

With the heavy creaking accompanying his each step upward, Victor wasn’t so sure. He kept one hand on the wall to keep steady, the fingers of his other hand ghosting a hair’s breadth over the railing.

Yuuko knocked on one of the close-set doors. “Yuu—have a guest, Eros! I’ve brought Agape.”

A voice answered through the door, muffled but audible. “Thank you, you can send him in.”

Yuuko’s quirked eyebrows and the set of her lips betrayed her amusement and consternation with that answer. “You heard him,” she said, looking to Victor. “I’ll leave you to send yourself in.”

“Thank you. If I don’t manage to see you again before I head out, have a good night.”

She paused, stepping closer and reaching out to chuck her fingers under his chin. “You too.” Her expression turned wan, something wistful in her eyes before she moved around him, heading downstairs.

Victor’s fingertips were still touching his chin when he turned away from watching her leave. It was confusing, but he wondered if it had something to do with Eros, or with him, or nothing at all related. He reached for the handle, turned the knob, and stepped inside.

A riot of small details pulled his attention, from the rack of clothing tucked tight to one wall to the counter running the narrow width of the room on the back wall. A large, metal mirror was attached to the wall above the counter; a jug filled with roses sat upon it. A narrow lounging seat sat opposite the clothes rack, pillows and blankets heedlessly tossed over it. 

In all of this, there was Eros, standing with his back to Victor. He was in silk again, a robe similar to what he’d worn on stage, only in reds and golds. Phoenixes circled each other, tail feathers trailing flames as their talons locked together in passionate exchange. Fighting, making love? Difficult to say.

“You can close the door.” Eros lifted his chin, turning his head to the side, looking in Victor’s general direction from the corner of his eye. 

“Of course.” Victor shut the door with care, the latch barely clicking as it slid into place. He looked back toward Eros, waiting for an indication of what he wanted to do next.

Eros held his silence for a beat, turning around with a practiced air, half-full glass in hand. The bottles on the counter were visible as Eros shifted to the side, leaning back. He held up his glass, tipping it Victor’s way.

“Thirsty?”

Victor smiled, holding onto his own arm behind his back. “Parched, though I doubt alcohol will help.”

Eros paused, blinking in surprised amusement. His glass came down, other hand coming up to try and capture his laughter before it escaped his mouth. “Depends who you ask,” he said once he had his laughter under control, hand dropping away to trace the line of his open robe. Victor found it very difficult not to let his eyes linger on Eros’s fingers as they played with the fabric where it cut down diagonally over his chest. “Or when you ask them. Here, sit down, I didn’t mean to make you stand.” He gestured to the sofa. 

“Thank you.” Victor took a seat, nudging a pillow out of the way. His coat ended up draped across his legs for lack of anywhere else to place it. In the meantime, Eros used a foot to hook around a stool tucked under the counter, pulling it forward and arranging himself on it with loose limbed coordination. 

“So, Agape. Is that what you want me calling you? Agape? That can’t be your real name.”

His lips pulled up into a wry smile. “No more than Eros is yours. I figured an exchange of stage names was a decent starting place.”

“You chose Agape?”

“Ah, not exactly. It’s one of those things that’s been difficult to get away from.”

Eros swirled the contents of his glass, taking an idle sip before squinting at Victor. Leaning forward and actually squinting. “You don’t _look_ so much like _agape_.”

“I don’t think unconditional love is meant to look like anything in particular, but if you take it as innocence, then no. That’s more of an attitude and lived experience, not a condition of love.” Eros hadn’t stopped squinting at him, but it didn’t feel like suspicion. Head canting to the side, he let his curiosity flow. “Are your eyes okay?”

“What?” Eros sat back, blinking rapidly. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“You keep squinting. What happened to the eyeglasses you had earlier this afternoon?”

Eros tipped himself forward, rising to his feet and sweeping toward Victor. He turned around and promptly sat down next to him, swaying as he did. “Don’t need them if we’re close enough.” He tipped his glass toward Victor, flashing him a coy smile. “I can see you just fine like this.”

Considering he leaned in and captured Victor’s face with his hands, or with a hand and the stem and cup of his glass likewise pressed against Victor’s cheek, it’d be hard for anyone not to see another person from less than a nose-length away. It was also difficult for Victor not to smell the alcohol on his breath.

Eros wasn’t drunk, per say, but he was certainly tipsy.

“You are very, very pretty,” Eros said. “I don’t think Agape’s supposed to be pretty. Or attractive.” He let go of Victor’s face, leaning back and sipping at his wine. “What’d you think of the show tonight?”

Victor tried to surreptitiously look around for water. The only obvious source was the jug with the roses. Less than helpful. “It was enjoyable. Everyone seemed to be having fun. The music was lovely. The audience stayed engaged.”

Eros rested his glass against his lips, giving Victor a less than impressed look over its rim. “What about me?”

There was no hesitation. “You were entrancing. I couldn’t look away.”

A flush stole across Eros’s cheeks at the matter-of-fact confession; he lowered his glass to his lap, leaning in again. His robe was in danger of falling off one shoulder. “Good. When I’m on stage, no one’s supposed to look away. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Eros leaned back again, lifting his glass and draining its contents. Victor blinked at the sudden switch in tone, Eros throwing another stage-perfect flirtatious smile his way. He set his glass down on the sofa, empty, and reached up to encourage his robe off his shoulder. His fingers traced patterns across his exposed skin, eyes bright and shining, challenging, seductive.

Not happy.

It was a twist in Victor’s gut, lips thinning into a frown even as he reached out, coaxing the sleeve of Eros’s robe back over his shoulder. “You’re compelling, you’re attractive, and I find what you do on stage exciting, yes. I’d be an idiot to claim I don’t find what you do out there erotic, but I’m not _here_ just because of that. You move like you’re part of the music. Whatever else you’re doing, the music plays, and you’re part of it, and I want to see _more_. I want to know if you dance, and if you do, what kinds of dancing you like best. I want to know why you went with Eros as a stage name. I want to know why you’ve kept the roses. I want to get to know _you_ , in and out of whatever you’re wearing at the time. _That_ is why I’m here.”

Eros blinked at him, wide eyed and flushed, hand coming up to clutch loosely at the front of his robe to keep it closed. Defensive body posturing Victor found easy to read, though he didn’t exactly understand the cause. “So you still want to see me naked?”

It was so absurd, and he asked with such earnest confusion on his face, that Victor couldn’t help when he started laughing. He dropped his face into his hands, groaning as he felt himself losing track of what he’d originally been thinking of doing in pursuing _eros_ on his own. “Yes, Eros. I’d still love to see you naked.”

“But not right now?” He looked offended over Victor’s laughter.

“Just not right now.”

“You come to the shows here and see me practically naked every time and you don’t want to see me actually naked right now.”

Victor pulled his hands away from his face, leveling a look at Eros. “Do you want to see _me_ naked right now?”

“Ye—” Eros started, clapping his hand over his mouth. “ _No_ ,” he said, muffled around his hand. “Maybe!” Eros dropped his hand away from his face, furrowing his brow and staring him down. Victor stared back, waiting. He had no idea where this particular wreck of a conversation was heading, and he didn’t want to admit that he was ludicrously pleased to hear Eros _wanted_ to see him naked.

Then again, his next revelation might be that he was an avid painter looking for a model and Victor had the right proportions to appeal to his artistic eye. It would fit with Victor’s life so far.

“Look, this is confusing, I just… okay. Okay.” Eros was sounding and holding himself less and less like his stage persona. “This is giving me a headache. How about this. A one time, good for right now offer. You can lean forward and kiss me, and I’ll show you a night you won’t forget anytime in the next, I don’t know. Decade. Or you can stand up and walk out that door and wait for me to get dressed, then walk me home. Much less exciting. Much more forgettable. Absolutely no kissing or sex involved.” 

The hope that’d been doggedly winding through his heart grew a little larger. “You’re giving me a choice.”

Eros made a small, strangled sound, either disbelief or frustration. “So which one are you accepting?”

Victor stood in a smooth motion, smiling at Eros, folding his coat over an arm. “I’ll wait out in the hall.” He was out the door before more than a weak sound of protest issued from Eros.

One night of sex did have a certain appeal. It’d been exactly what Victor wanted when he’d dove in head first trying to find his own sense of _eros_. Ironic that once he found Eros, one night no longer seemed like enough. Not enough time to learn anything about him, and not enough of his time. Given even this small glimpse of it, of the contradiction in Eros between what he’d offered and what his actions had seemed to mean, Victor wanted to know more.

So he stood in the hall and he waited, hoping, unaware of the mini-crisis going down on the other side of the door.

* * *

Yuuri stared after Agape and didn’t know if he wanted to laugh, to find another bottle of sparkling wine and drink it all directly from the bottle itself, or attempt to sneak past Agape and pretend none of what had just happened had happened in the first place. Why not all three? Even simultaneously? It might make the sneaking past Agape part more of a challenge, but hey, he was already making stellar decisions tonight. Another dubious one on top of the rest couldn’t hurt.

It was confusing. If Agape was playing a game, if he thrived on the challenge of the chase, Yuuri’s easy capitulation should have been enough to throw him off. Everything about Agape led Yuuri to believe he was genuine; Yuuko had said as much, too, but Yuuko was more generous with intent and other people compared to Yuuri.

How had his last relationship even gone? Late night drinks and sloppy makeouts and halfway decent sex along with the arguments and butting heads. Yuuri didn’t see the point in giving up on his dreams, no matter how improbable, without having tried everything to reach them first. Being tucked away into someone’s home to be on hand for whenever they had a bad day and wanted to fuck it out of their system sounded more like a cage than any kind of freedom. Love could certainly be selfish. Was _mostly_ selfish, in his understanding. Still, there were limits, and he’d reached his, and he’d not actually wanted to get entangled again so soon. Okay, it’d been a year, but soon had a certain relativity when he was still running after his dream.

_You move like you’re part of the music. I want to know if you dance, and if you do, what kinds of dancing you like best._

He rubbed his face, feeling his cheeks warm, knowing it wasn’t all from the alcohol. He hadn’t even had enough to do more than explain his over-bluntness trying to rely on liquid courage to bolster the gaps in his Eros persona. Fat lot of good that’d done him. Now he was sitting in his dressing room with a racing heart and an ache deep in his chest.

_What kinds of dancing you like best._

Yuuri knew exactly why he’d offered two outs. He’d even known what he’d hoped Agape would choose, though he wouldn’t have been fully disappointed if he’d taken the first option. No strings attached stress relief sex had a certain appeal, but it felt… better having Agape take the other option. Frightening, too.

There was a chance that spending time around Agape might actually be enjoyable. Then where would Yuuri be?

_Nothing says I’d have to be anywhere. Nothing says we have to date. Or that I have to talk to him again after tonight. It’ll be okay._

Dressing in his street clothes, wiping off what he could of his makeup, he set his shoulders and paused in front of his door. Breathing in, he counted to three; counting down from three as he breathed out. There weren’t any expectations. Only what he’d said earlier, and a few statements that could have been questions if framed in a different way.

He was in control, and he felt less off kilter than minutes earlier. Not quite in a good mood, but the swirling tendency of his thoughts to leap toward the worst conclusions had calmed somewhat. He almost felt cautiously optimistic that tonight would end on a decent note, in spite of the confusions of before.

He stepped into the hall, bundled and ready for the night air. He flicked his gaze toward Agape, then moved past him, awkward. With his hands tucked into his pockets, Yuuri started down the stairs. “Come on.” Best to get this whole farce rolling, considering Agape hadn’t wandered off while Yuuri changed.

Yuuri’s steps were quiet, Agape’s creaking and loud, until about halfway down. Yuuri squinted over his shoulder when he noticed, seeing Agape had slowed down, letting Yuuri get a lead on him. Then he followed the same pattern to steps as Yuuri had, not quite hitting them correctly, but moving with much less exaggerated sound. Agape didn’t offer an explanation. He met Yuuri’s squint with a small smile.

“... Right.” He summoned up a small smile of his own, amused by Agape’s actions. _I shouldn’t be._ The reminder didn’t appear to hold water as Yuuri headed for the back entrance, saying an automatic goodnight to his fellow performers on the way. Agape was his affable shadow through the narrower walk space, adding his own goodnights and words of appreciation while Yuuri yanked on the door. 

Stepping out into the brisk night air had him breathing in sharp by reflex. He loved that feeling, the shock of chill before he bundled everything closer and started moving again, warmed by his own trapped body-heat. Yuuri had almost convinced himself Agape wasn’t there, but the soft closing of the door after he’d stepped through was accompanied by the tamping of another’s footsteps down the short stone stairway.

“Feels like it’s going to be an early winter.” Agape came to a stop by his side, glancing his way. “Which way is it?”

Yuuri hunched his shoulders, looking away. “This way.” He started left, shoulders dropping as he settled into his usual stride. “You’re not going to keep making small talk about the weather, are you?”

“I’ve considered doing that, but I’m not all that great with small talk. Rarely interests me.”

Yuuri snorted, somewhat amused that anyone calling themselves Agape decried the concept of small-talk, which had to be about as _agape_ as anything. “You prefer to jump right into the big talk?”

Agape laughed, an unfettered sound that startled Yuuri at first. It was a nice sound, one without any hint of mockery. “Wouldn’t that be boasting? Hah, maybe I could, if I thought there was anything in particular to boast about. Hmm, I wonder.” Agape rested a finger on his chin, glancing skyward. A few moments passed before he looked back to Yuuri, catching his gaze with his own. “I’m a good dancer. There.” His smile was quick and ready, teasing in and of itself. “Maybe even a fantastic one, depending on the dance.”

Yuuri’s shoulders relaxed another fraction. “Which dances?”

“Oh, most the festival ones. That’s what I learned first. After that, it was dabbling in some dances from the more formal celebrations, like the promenades held at the equinoxes. Different performance dance, too, though I haven’t been able to dedicate my time to any of it as a proper pursuit. Other obligations.” Agape stared forward, shoulders lifting in a slight shrug as if to imply, _what can you do?_

Yuuri caught himself before asking what those obligations were. Toeing that line might mean wanting to be frank in return; something he wasn’t ready to be. Instead, his lips quirked at the corners, head tipping to the side as he mused. “What about torso folk dance?”

“Torso folk dance?”

He nodded, feeling pleased. “I think it’s been called belly dancing in some parts of the city, but it’s based on another kind of folk dance that started getting popular over the last ten years or so.”

“Belly dancing… I think I may have seen a demonstration before? Lots of hip movement, movement all through here?” Agape gestured to his stomach, hand coming up to indicate his chest, then dropping lower to indicate about his navel. 

“That might have been it, yes.”

The acknowledgement seemed to please Agape, but was soon followed by a more shrewd look and a different expression of emotion Yuuri found difficult to pin down. Or difficult to believe. There was a delight that seemed closer to pure than wicked in Agape’s eyes as he turned himself toward Yuuri, eyes wide. “You know how to belly dance?”

It was a close enough fit to part of his Eros persona that Yuuri found he smiled in a self-pleased way, glancing at Agape from the corner of one eye without directly facing him. “Maybe.”

“Eros! You’re teasing me!”

“I do that every night. What makes this new?”

Agape looked like he might have started to say something, but he changed his mind, laughing once again. “Clever,” he said, and it was with enough honest enjoyment that Yuuri kept smiling too. 

“I know.” 

Maybe he had a better handle on all this than he otherwise believed. _Fake it until it’s true._ One way or another, he’d work Agape out. Just not like he’d thought he would at the start of the evening.

* * *

Victor enjoyed the leisurely stroll through familiar city streets, taking a few unexpected turns as Eros relaxed into conversation. For all he’d eschewed small talk earlier in the evening, Victor knew the use and practice of it in breaking down barriers between people; though he generally had little use for it while working. He could speak; any of the initiates _could_ , but he found less and less reason after his majority. Most often a few gestures communicated enough. Saying what he didn’t mean sincerely was more difficult than the politeness of a well-timed motion.

He found it easy to talk with Eros, one flow of conversation shifting into another. Most weren’t deep, discussing the change in light quality between the street-lamps in one sector to the next, commenting on the loud caroling of a particularly drunk individual propping themselves up against a wall. Victor had asked if Eros minded they stop to see if the person was okay, earning an odd glance and quiet affirmation

More than once he’d found his own entanglement with his god to be troubling, but turning away from the simplest acts felt like a betrayal of the last twenty years of his life. Knowing he wanted more than just this and the feelings of satisfaction tied up in his near-compulsive behaviours made it easier to swallow the person’s response. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Jus’ waitin’. Waitin’ for ‘em to come on by,” they started singing again, tipping their head back and serenading the street.

Victor shot Eros a look, both of them shrugging and trying to refrain from anything more than an amused smile as they started off again. The interlude soothed a roughness between them, until they lapsed into a companionable silence. 

“Ah, thanks for… walking me home.” Eros furrowed his brow, blinking off whatever emotion had come attached to his pause in speech. His expression was difficult to decipher, but the small quirk of his lips into a smile felt reassuring.

“You’re welcome. May your dreams walk hand in hand with Love.” 

He could see the way those words were jarring when his companion blinked, Eros giving him a discerning look immediately after. “Yeah,” he said. “Yours too.”

It was only after they’d both turned away, Eros climbing the stairs up to the foyer for his building, Victor heading up the street instead of back the way he came, that he realised two things. One, he’d addressed Eros as another initiate of the Sects of Love. Eros even seemed to recognise it, though that didn’t necessarily tell him exactly _who_ Victor was… unless he stopped to consider Victor’s admission to Agape being his own stage name. Two, Eros had offered to sleep with Victor.

Granted, not for the reasons Victor would want, and it was hard for him to tack much more on there than certainty that Eros found him visually appealing. If anything, the context and set-up had all seemed almost obligatory, like a transaction Eros presumed would be happening because that’s the form he expected affection to arrive through. 

The whole of it gave him pause, resting a finger against his lips as he wound his way back toward the Agape Sector. _What started him believing in that?_ Nothing Victor knew, which was unsurprising, but without any input he could only speculate. Making assumptions wouldn’t help. For his part, he could work on meeting Eros where he was, and see where they’d go together from there.

_Meeting him where he is…_ Victor came to a stop, halting on the side of the road. _Oh!_ His lips curled into a smile, finger still resting flush against them. The burst of possibility that flooded through him took the half-formed idea he’d had earlier and gave it form.

Yuuko had gone out of her way to say Eros enjoyed watching from the audience on amateur night. Victor wouldn’t be able to deliver a performance like Eros, but he could deliver his own kind. One that would hopefully surprise the man of his affections while offering another kind of gesture.

He had to talk to Yuuko. An extra spring in his step took him the rest of the way home at a near-jog, expression set into neutral lines as his mind raced on ahead of him. Even taking Makkachin for their nightly walk and tossing about her favourite stuffed bunny, made by a former initiate, didn’t slow the stirrings of his mind.

Once he had the framework of a plan in order, he smiled, scratching his fingers through the curls on Makkachin’s neck. “Makkachin, this is going to be fun.” He dropped his head lower, inviting a lick across his nose as he studied her face. Closing his eyes through her affection, he peeked through his lashes after. “I really think you’ll like him. Once I can figure out when I can introduce the two of you.”

Surprising just how much he wanted to do exactly that. It didn’t even occur to Victor that Eros could possibly not be a dog person. After all, who _couldn’t_ love Makkachin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, I posted a longer chapter by switching around where I'd put in my chapter breaks, so my next update is more likely to be two weeks out than the rough one week per I've been posting. I figure it was worth it!


	5. dinner date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, it’s not you, I mean it’s nice to meet you, Victor, but—” Yuuri’s own smile was broad and amused, reaching up to nudge his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he confessed, “Victor’s my _dog’s_ name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from the ether! Stay tuned for Big Bang!!! On Ice, which starts posting on the 9th of February and runs through to the 25th. There's a whole bunch of amazing authors and artists involved, and I'm honoured to be part of the fandom project! Come the 16th, I'll be posting my own story related to this event--I hope you give it a read!
> 
> Now, on with the show...

Victor’s unsurety over what to expect changed little in his outward behaviour the next night Eros was due to perform. He wasn’t able to arrive early like he planned, caught up in duties related to his Sect, and he even ended up asking one of the younger initiates to run his request and payment for a single rose to the florist he’d been favouring. As a consequence, he didn’t have a chance to talk with Yuuko before the show started, sending a smile her direction when he caught her eye as she slipped toward the back. She lifted a hand in acknowledgement, then disappeared.

Cao Bin still hadn’t returned. Instead the same young man whose name Victor continued to find eluding him was there, overboistrous behind the bar. His serving had improved enough Victor found he enjoyed the drinks, while tuning out most of what he said. It wasn’t personal; he was distracted and would have made more of an effort to listen if he’d been less preoccupied, but as it was, he merely made noises of acknowledgement while going through logistics for two weeks out.

Missing Yuuko meant he had that night’s rose still in hand, making him more aware of the space around him. He settled down at one of the tables less prone to crowding, being at a less favoured angle, closer to the door leading backstage. Nursing water alongside the bartenders concoction, which had proven surprisingly sweet, he settled in to watch.

It was the same performance set as when he’d first come, the familiarity almost warm as he watched people’s movement on stage, listened for any small differences in the musical performance. He loved all of it, the mental exercise of that kind of engagement slowly relaxing into appreciation for the showmanship as a whole. 

Yuuko slipped into the seat beside him between the second and third acts; right before Eros would take the stage.

“Running late today?”

“Hello, Yuuko! Yes, obligations ran later than I was expecting.” He lifted his glass, tipping it her way. “Is it too late to ask for help with a delivery?”

She crossed her arms on the table, smile soft and musing as she looked toward the empty stage. “I think he’d be disappointed if nothing arrived. Though really… how heart-set are you on watching this performance from here?”

He remembered Eros in the black lace and silk, the half-mask that’d turned his face into a playful mystery. Would it be any different now with a growing sense of who Eros was as a person? Would it be just as striking?

“I didn’t want the flower to end up crushed.”

Yuuko smiled, taking his roundabout agreement for what it was. “Come on, we still have a few minutes. It’s about time you started giving these to him properly, don’t you think?” Her mock-serious tone had him smiling. It hadn’t been his decision alone to make, and he suspected Yuuko was taking Eros’s permission from last time as a pass for this now.

He followed her as she wove through the crowd, listening to overhead snippets of conversation. People were looking forward to the next act; Eros was a name on more than a few people’s lips. Victor smiled, shaking his head as he followed Yuuko through the door backstage. He understood, really, he did. What he almost didn’t understand is why Eros decided to stay at the Ice Castle. It seemed like he’d be successful at bigger venues, if that was what he wanted.

_What is it you’re looking for, Eros?_

A refrain to a question Victor had asked himself many times before.

They caught Eros near the foot of the stairs, raking his fingers through slicked-back hair and frowning as he stared at the floor. Yuuko’s voice brought his head up, giving him pause. The nervous tapping of his foot went silent.

“Yuuko?” Dark eyes framed with heavier stage makeup flicked between Yuuko and Victor. “Agape.”

“He was running late, and _I_ am running behind, which you will be too if you aren’t careful. Anyway, it’s about time you accepted your own deliveries.” She lifted her eyebrows, smile small and firm. “Right?”

Victor felt his own eyebrows creep higher as Eros blinked, pausing before responding with a slow nod. “Right.”

Yuuko seemed appeased by this, humming a happy note under her breath and walking past them both, patting Victor’s elbow as she went. 

“She’s a forceful personality,” he said, impressed at her adroit handling of who he suspected was a longtime friend. The ease of communication, how Yuuko and Eros interacted, was an older familiarity. Likely more than the three years Eros had been performing here.

“You have no idea,” Eros said, but he smiled afterward, shaking his head as he looked after Yuuko’s back. When he looked back to Victor, that smile faded, but only a little. The fondness Yuuko provoked calmed into a pleasant expression, not committed one way or another. “Is that for me?”

Victor swept down on one knee, letting whimsy carry him forward. He held up the rose as an offering, head tipped back as he looked up at Eros. “Who else?”

He saw Eros’s eyes widen, blinking in surprise, then in a mix of consternation and amusement. He plucked the flower out of Victor’s hands, shaking his head and using the rose to gesture him up again. “What are you doing? Stand up, this is ridiculous.”

Ridiculous indeed, in a way that left Victor feeling light as he flashed Eros a grin, straightening up with a helpful hand braced against his knee. “Really, if we had any decent time, I might have even tried reciting poetry. We’ve got to start timing this better.”

“Timing, huh?” Eros snorted, glancing down at the rose. “Doesn’t seem to be a strong point for anyone here. I thought you’d… Nevermind.” He gave a curt shake of his head, dismissing whatever he’d been about to say.

Victor breathed in deep, his sigh kept quiet as relief gently expanded in his chest. Not because he’d worried Eros, as he currently believed he had, but because he didn’t assume Eros would worry in the first place. There were times it was selfishly pleasant to be proven wrong. 

“I have to apologise, usually I’m here in time. I was running late tonight. Obligations and duties tied me up longer than I expected, even building in extra time for everything to get done.” Obligations and duties of a more sought-after kind were on Eros’s mind, if his glance toward the stage meant what Victor guessed it must. 

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Eros said instead, gently offering the rose back to Victor. “I, well. I can’t take this out on stage. If you don’t mind waiting?”

He might have imagined the hesitation when Eros asked his question, not quite giving it full context. If Victor didn’t mind waiting, he wouldn’t be here. The choice Eros offered last time was the choice Victor would continue to make.

He smiled, shoulders loosening as he accepted the returned rose. “I don’t mind. Ah, but I won’t keep you for any longer, Eros.” He tipped his head toward the stage, clear and waiting, music audible over the gentle hum of the crowd. “May thunder meet you where you stand.”

This time the somewhat formal statement exchanged between performers within the Sects brought a smile to Eros’s red rouged lips. It was a familiar enough refrain in different parts of the city, especially amoung dancers. “Where inspiration strikes like lightning, it either follows, or you burn.”

Leaving Victor to his amused surprise hearing the semiformal rejoinder to his indirect wish of good luck, Eros stepped away, moving for the stage and pausing where the leg of the draperies still hid him from view. His head came up, his shoulders rolled, then set back, posture straightening. 

Eros waited for the musicians to come back around to the count cue he entered on before stepping out into the brighter lights focused on stage. Cheers and shouts of approval told Victor what he already knew about the anticipation of the audience. With a wry smile, he stepped back, taking himself out of the immediate pathway of the people bustling past. Two acts would go on stage after Eros; that meant last minute adjustments and repairs on costumes, should they need it, any necessary set pieces, all the countless adjustments required to pull each performance off, one after another.

He’d been on this side of proceedings often enough before, usually as one of the performers. Often even in an official role, as part of the representation for the god of Love, as the leading representation of Agape. It was his function as head initiate in a sect that _had_ no true priests or priestesses.

He set those thoughts aside, catching no real glimpse from his standpoint, rose resting against his shoulder. Instead he listened to the music, to the crowd, imagining where Eros was in his routine from that first blazing encounter. The memory was enough to stir an interest through his core; he breathed in, breathing out slowly and simply accepting what it was.

Toward the end of Eros’s performance, Yuuko bustled past, then paused, turning back around. “Agape? You’re still back here?” She sounded confused instead of irritated, glancing toward the stage. “Don’t you want to be out there watching the show? Or at least standing up by the side where you can see what’s going on.”

He felt himself offer a wry smile, knowing this absurdity for what it was. “He asked me to wait. We didn’t actually end up specifying where.” He tipped his head to the side, pursing his lips. “In hindsight, clarification would have been helpful.”

Yuuko stared at him before snorting, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “Yes, it would have.” Her look of amusement turned thoughtful, gaze sweeping the immediate area. “Well, as long as you’re out of the way, it should be fine. Figure out a better plan next time?”

“I will, I promise.” In no small part because he’d enjoy watching Eros, not just remembering what it was like to watch Eros. He could have walked back out to the front room and joined the audience, standing back toward the fringes. He still could, catching the tail end of his performance.

It still felt more important that he be standing right here, where Eros had left him. For right now, this was exactly where Victor needed, and wanted, to be.

Yuuko started to move away again, content with Victor’s promise, when Victor remembered what else he’d wanted to discuss. “Wait, Yuuko, if you have a minute? I had a question related to amateur night.”

She paused, turning back his way, eyes lighting up with interest. “You’re planning on participating?” She had to be the only person he’d met who’d even entertain the thought without laughing. He wondered just what she expected, but had a suspicion it had more to do with Eros than with Victor, specifically.

“I had an idea I wanted to run by you. If it sounds like it would work, then yes, consider me signed up. If not, that’s fine, but I think I found something that even I can do.” As he explained his idea, Yuuko’s eyes started to sparkle with excitement. By the end, she clapped her hands, grinning with more teeth than she usually did.

“Oh yes, we can _definitely_ make that work! You want to keep the Eros in the dark on the details?”

“Yes, I’d prefer for it to be a surprise. Hopefully an amusing one.” Yuuko returned his grin with one of her own.

“Keeping that secret’s going to be tough, but I’ll manage. I’ll be telling Takeshi though, he’ll need to help out. Is telling Eros you’re participating okay?”

He nodded, glancing toward the stage entrance he could see. “I planned on telling him tonight if you said it was possible.”

“Good. Great! Oh, I can’t wait to see this in action. It’s going to be fun!”

“Not very sexy, though.”

She shrugged before heading off. Yuuko called back over her shoulder as she slipped toward the door. “Who said it can’t be both?”

_A lifetime of living under Agape’s blessing, but it’s a nice thought._ He didn’t worry about answering her rhetorical question. Yuuko was gone before Victor had a chance. Not long after, it was Eros who came striding in from offstage, meeting a stagehand who held open a warmer robe. He startled when he saw Victor waiting near the stairs, leaning against the lower railings. 

“You didn’t have to wait back here, you know?”

Victor held out the rose once more, bridging the distance between them. He liked the incongruity of the robe Eros wore, plush and fraying around the edge of the collar where it lay against Eros’s neck. Which he shouldn’t be staring at, so he allowed his gaze to lift higher, drinking in the flush of exertion barely visible on Eros’s face. “I wanted to be where you could find me.”

Eros’s lips twitched into an unplanned smile, quick to come, equally quick to fade as his eyes darted off to the side. “Thank you, I think. Though I would have figured you were just out in the room again. There can’t be that many people with your… Anyway.” Eros cleared his throat. “Did you… want to walk me home again tonight?”

Victor’s lips twitched into a grin. “When you’re ready, yes. I’d love to, on a slightly different, kind of scenic route. How tired are you?”

Eros narrowed his eyes for a moment, suspicion moving across his features, disappearing when he smiled. “I’ll let you know after I’ve changed.”

* * *

As it turned out, Yuuri felt moderately tired. It had little to do with his performance that night, but explaining as much was beyond him at present. It’d involve a measure of self-reflection and open honesty he didn’t have energy for with an acquaintance who kept insisting he wanted to know him better.

Even if he’d been surprised by the jolt of happiness through his stomach when Agape had appeared backstage, holding his usual rose.

Yuuri finished washing his face, patting himself dry with a towel Yuuko had brought up for him. She was a practical woman in her kindness; even when she’d been younger, and for a brief period after moving away, part of the Agape Sect. Yuuri had grown up down the street from Yuuko, though he hadn’t actually met her until he’d joined one of the youth performance groups with the school in their district.

He wished he had enough water to really wash his hair, longing for the traditional bath house the rest of his family ran up the coast, in a smaller port town a day or so’s travel away. Natural springs underneath the city had been redirected into a series of public and private baths, some with attached rooms, others with attached restaurants. His parents ran a restaurant and performing stage, mostly used for live music. The idea of it all, between soaking in their pools, to dining on the food familiar to him from childhood, was powerfully compelling tonight. He didn’t know why.

It did mean when he met with Agape on the balcony overlooking backstage, Yuuri was unapologetically hungry. “Does the scenic route include finding anything to eat?”

With a blink, Agape looked to the side, thinking. His slow smile sent a surprising jolt through Yuuri’s stomach as he said, “Now there will be.”

With a grunt, Yuuri nodded. “Good.”

He considered himself decently familiar with _parts_ of the city ever since he moved down this way, but walking with Agape out of Eros-persona felt like seeing even familiar sites in a different way. Most of it he credited to Agape himself, whose small, pointed comments and anecdotes about the places they passed gave them a depth and colour Yuuri hadn’t seen before.

“It’s like you know most the city,” he said, smiling at the idea. Agape smiled back, tucking his hands away in his coat pockets. He was wearing gloves today, Yuuri noticed. In fact, hadn’t he been wearing gloves when they were walking together the first time, too?

“Sounds that way, doesn’t it? I don’t know if anyone really can. Cities are as alive as their people in a sense. People come and go, grow and change; buildings might burn or come down in an earthquake then be rebuilt. Businesses open and close for all different reasons. The gardens change, the seasons change, festivals pass and come around again.” He shook his head, as if shaking off stray thoughts as he trailed off. Whatever point he’d been making at first had been lost along the way, but Yuuri found he didn’t mind. He enjoyed listening to agape talk.

He wanted to hear more. Of what Agape apparently thought of the city, or the people, or anything else. Not just to hear him speak, but to know what he thought, and to blunder through why. While Agape pointed toward an open faced grill, people sitting on narrow benches eating fresh-grilled vegetables or fowl drizzled in sharp-smelling spices, Yuuri faced himself squarely.

_Yuuko’s right, in more than one way. If only being direct didn’t feel like walking into an audition blind._

“My name’s Yuuri.” He blurted out, heart beating over-hard in his chest. “Yuuri Katsuki.” Staring at the woman carefully turning kebabs on the grill, he caught the shift in Agape’s demeanour from the corner of an eye.

“Victor Nikiforov.” 

Yuuri whipped his head around, catching sight of Agape’s—Victor’s—brilliant smile in the moment before Yuuri started laughing. Surprise had taken him off guard, but the inherent hilarity of the connection in his head when Agape gave him his name took out the lingering anxiety where he’d half wondered if Agape would answer at all. Meeting his confused look, victor still smiling, Yuuri tried to explain.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you, I mean it’s nice to meet you, Victor, but—” Yuuri’s own smile was broad and amused, reaching up to nudge his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he confessed, “Victor’s my _dog’s_ name.”

He half expected Victor to take offense, but just as improbably, he joined in Yuuri’s laughter.

“Oh, good. I was hoping you liked dogs!”

It was one more barrier coming down, the admission they both loved dogs. Victor was quick to follow up with his own dog’s name, Makkachin, describing her curly brown fur and holding his hand to his leg to indicate how tall she stood at the shoulder.

“Vicchan comes up to my knee, if that. He has dark brown curls, and he’s always smiling. Or panting, but it’s nice to think it’s a smile.”

Victor nodded, turning his head to smile at the woman handling the grill, and thus the orders. “Canine smiles. Makkachin’s good at those when she’s playing. What’s on menu today?”

The woman cocked her hip, tipping her head toward the grill. “Garlic heads, peppers, onion, zucchini, potatoes, pheasant, pork belly. Mixed or straight, your say. Flatbread too.” Also on the grill, but left in a pile to the side next to the bowls holding chopped ingredients.

Victor lifted his eyebrows, turning his face toward Yuuri. The decision was apparently being left up to him.

“Two mixed, two vegetable, one all pork.”

The woman nodded, pulling out wooden skewers and threading them per his request. Brushed over with oil, she set them down on the grill, head cocked to hear any addition from Victor. She didn’t have to wait long.

“One vegetable, two all pheasant. Dark meat?”

She considered, shrugging one shoulder. “Should have enough to do one and one. That it?”

Victor made a thoughtful noise before looking to Yuuri. “Thirsty?”

Yuuri startled, for an improbable moment wondering if Victor had read his mind. It was absurd, and he managed to rein in the impulse to ask _how did you know?_ , instead nodding.

“Alcohol or water?”

“I’ll stick with water, thanks.” Victor made a noise of acknowledgement before slipping past the woman toward where another woman stood behind a counter tucked under the restaurant’s awning. Yuuri shifted his weight from foot to foot, tucking his hands back into his pockets as he idly watched the woman work the grill. His surreptitious glances toward Victor were for the sake of a different curiosity. One he wanted to follow through on.

_Where did you come from? What exactly do you do? We’ve brushed by it, but…_ Much like Yuuri hadn’t volunteered anything of his own specifics, Agape— _Victor_ —had done the same. It was a silly sort of game that Victor didn’t seem like he’d intended to start. For a moment, Yuuri felt like it’d been his fault it’d turned into one in the first place.

_I could have said anything earlier, to see him, or tell him to stop._ Yet he hadn’t, and Victor hadn’t pressured, and now Yuuri had even more roses in a jug in his dressing room, with two of the older ones pulled out and plucked so their petals could start drying for later use.

_Okay, maybe I was playing around with the idea of Agape before I ever wanted to see him. It hasn’t been so bad. Yet._

“Room temperature. Hope that’s all right.” 

“It’s fine, thank you.” Yuuri turned his head, accepting the offered clay mug from Victor on his return. Room temperature wasn’t all that warm away from the grill, leaving his water more refreshing than he expected.

After another sip of water, he went on. “Looks like it’ll be a little longer before everything’s grilled. Should we grab a place to sit?”

“If there’s anywhere open. Like… a-hah! Down toward the end.” Victor gestured with his clay mug toward the open space at the end of bench under the awning. “Want to hold it for us?”

Yuuri’s hesitation lasted half a second, but the appeal in getting to sit through their particular meal was greater than his other niggling worries. “Works for me. Can I trust you with the sauces?”

Victor smiled, holding his mug out to Yuuri. “More than you can trust I won’t get saucy, or that you won’t. Anything I should avoid?”

Accepting the other mug, Yuuri shrugged, turning around. “Anything that’s supposed to set your mouth on fire for the next few years.” Phichit had been introducing Yuuri to a variety of spices at different levels of heat since they first started living together, but Yuuri didn’t want to chance meeting a level that’d leave his eyes watering and nose running while he coughed on his first date with Victor. Which he realised this was as he took a seat, resting Victor’s mug on his leg while sipping at his water. _I’m pretty sure Victor already managed to pay for everything._

He glanced back toward Victor, hearing none of what words he exchanged with the grill-cook. A tentative smile was returned when he caught Victor’s eye; he held up two fingers, as if indicating a time remaining. Yuuri nodded, pretending his assumption was right either way. It didn’t seem to matter, which was reassuring after a fashion.

Victor drizzled sauce over the grilled delicacies, carrying the two simple fired clay plates to sit next to Yuuri. He offered one to Yuuri, asking as he sat, “Is your dog’s name really Victor?”

Embarrassment caught up with him over the lack of tact inherent in his comment. He felt his cheeks heat, knowing with painful clarity he was visibly red in the face. Setting his mug on the bench at his side, Yuuri accepted the plate and handed Victor back his drink. “I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he started, only to be interrupted by Victor’s amused snort.

“Probably not.” Victor tipped his mug toward Yuuri, taking a sip. “As a consequence, now you have to tell me the story of how he ended up with that name.”

Yuuri picked up his water to mimic the uncommented upon cheers, trying to will his face to cool. “It’s not much of a story. I used to help clean out the kennels for a breeder in my hometown in the afternoons. I’d gotten the idea that I wanted a dog, and my parents were of the opinion that I should have an idea of the work that goes into raising and training one before I took on the responsibility. I think they were hoping I’d lose interest, but…” He trailed off, lips pulling up into a smile. “Didn’t really work like that.”

Victor started on a kebab, pulling off a grilled onion drizzled in a sweet-sour sauce. Yuuri could feel the weight of his regard. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as he expected; he didn’t expect to pull that same interest from people when he wasn’t putting on a performance. It was almost heady, which meant he promptly tried to ignore it.

“So you got him from that breeder?”

Too hungry to wait, Yuuri had to finish chewing and swallowing a cube of pork. He was too hungry to notice much about how it tasted beyond “filling.” His nod was perfunctory, eyes growing fond as he thought back to Vicchan’s puppyhood. “I did, on accident. Vicchan was the runt of his litter, and he got some kind of lung illness when he was about a month old. He needed round the clock care for a while, needing coaxing to eat, in and out of fevers with this horrible cough.”

“You nursed him back to health?”

“As well as I could. My mom helped.” This time when Yuuri used his teeth to pull another cube of grilled pork free, he could taste some of the sauce. Delightfully sweet at first, with a salty aftertaste. “This is great! What sauce did you put on it?”

Victor winked, licking his lips. “I think that one’s called hoisin?” He balanced his plate on his leg. “Then the name Victor came out of… his living?”

Yuuri gave a nod of his head, then shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Yes, and no. I didn’t name him for another month after, actually? I didn’t know he was going to be mine for sure until then, and I didn’t want to give him a name if he was going to end up with another family. It just seemed that for such a small pup, he’d tackle everything with the same energy of the bigger puppies in his litter. Once he recovered, he’d dive right in and play and come out on top. He was my little victor.”

Yuuri hurriedly bit into one of his vegetable kebabs, the almost lemon-tart sauce catching him by surprise. At least he could keep himself from saying anything else if his mouth was full.

“That’s adorable. I wish I could have seen that! Though I notice you’ve been saying Vicchan. A nickname?” 

“Ah, yeah. He responds to both. I probably call him Vicchan more than anything else.”

Victor grinned, sitting back a fraction and looking pleased. “Then the only time I won’t know which of us you mean is when you’re shouting?”

Yuuri stared blankly, then with narrowed eyes as Victor’s meaning sunk in. “If I ever mention someone being a _bad boy_ , you can assume I’m only talking about my _dog_.” He pointedly bit into a piece of grilled bell pepper, pulling it off the kebab and chewing with a flat look.

Victor appeared to find that amusing as well, but he held up a hand, placating. “Got it, got it. The trick will be making sure not to get you mad enough to yell at me.” 

Yuuri didn’t bother responding to something so ludicrous. As it was, he couldn’t imagine himself ever getting mad enough, precisely, but emotional enough to yell? He didn’t lie to himself when it came to acknowledging he could be surprisingly passionate.

Also surprisingly resigned when it came to tackling any of the messes Vicchan managed to get himself into. Wryly, he hoped that wasn’t a shared personality point between Victor and his dog. He was done with this line of conversation, shifting it back toward Victor. It didn’t hurt that he’d have a greater ability to focus on eating if Victor were speaking instead.

“What about Makkachin? How’d you end up with her? Where does her name come from?”

Victor swirled the contents of his mug with a languid roll of his wrist. “She was nestled in trash right after a snowstorm. You could say she found me more than the other way around. I didn’t plan to keep her, but she had her own idea of what was going to happen.” He smiled, an achingly fond expression that had Yuuri leaning toward him, just a touch. Enough to press thigh to thigh, bumping shoulders amiably. Whatever it was he thought he saw in Victor’s expression looked less distancing after he shifted closer. Victor focused on Yuuri’s face, blinking as he came back to the moment they were both in.

“Was it difficult convincing your family to keep her?”

“In a manner of speaking. The Agape Sector is more open minded to their initiates having unexpected attachments over time, but it still took convincing that she be allowed long-term.” It was so matter of fact, Victor blithely stating truths he was at peace with, that it took a moment before Yuuri caught on to the extent of his assumption.

He flushed bright red, feeling moronic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know you’d actually been part of the Agape Sect. For how long?”

“Most my life, actually. You don’t need to apologise, Yuuri.” Victor leaned back, watching the people trickling by on the street. “I don’t regret my time with the sect. They’ve been very good to me.”

He still felt like an idiot, looking down and studying his kebabs. “That’s… good.” He fumbled over what else to say, or if he should redirect the conversation altogether. He was glad when Victor took the decision away from him, turning his considerable attention back toward him.

“Yuuri, can I meet Vicchan? I want to introduce you to Makkachin too.” Victor’s eyes went wide with sudden excitement. “Wait, I know! A puppy date!”

“A puppy date?”

Victor nodded, beaming at Yuuri. “We’ll set up a puppy date! You bring Vicchan, I’ll bring Makkachin, and we can explore one of the dog-friendly gardens and introduce them to each other. And to us!”

The idea held a warm appeal, but it was Victor’s apparent enthusiasm that prompted Yuuri into smiling in return. His heart fluttered in his chest, leading him to rest his plate on one leg as he looked sideways at Victor. “We’d have to work out a time we’re both available, and it’s better for me in the mornings… it’s generally dark by the time I’m out of the Ice Castle.”

Yuuri faced Victor properly, smile showing teeth when he nodded. “Okay. A puppy date. We’ll make it work! I’m busy training, but one of my off days should work.”

Victor didn’t bother hiding his happy response to Yuuri’s agreement. It made Yuuri wonder, briefly, just how important it was for Victor to show off Makkachin. He didn’t think on it past that, largely because Victor had started talking again, eyes bright and animated.

“When’s your next free day? I can usually work around a flexible schedule. My duties at the sect aren’t strict on timing most days.”

“With the sect? Which one?” Yuuri frowned, a small downturn of his lips in brief confusion. Victor had talked about being in the Agape Sect, but with his age, he couldn’t still be there. 

Victor appeared oblivious to the particulars of Yuuri’s confusion. “Mm, yes, the Agape Sect.” He looked skyward, as if trying to recall something in specific. Yuuri still didn’t know what he meant, exactly, but Victor didn’t seem overly concerned about his own particulars. “What’re you practicing for?”

Distracted from hearing Victor reiterate his connection to the Agape Sect once more (Pragma, he decided, didn’t Pragma help guide Agape Sect?), Yuuri looked at his plate, biting down on the side of his tongue. He’d been performing and dancing for years, both as Eros and as himself in two different contexts, but it was only as Eros that he felt like he had any idea what he was doing. Eros owned his stage. Yuuri had difficulty feeling like he owned any other one he stepped on.

Still, he had that one, enduring dream. Each year was possibly the last time he’d get his chance to pursue it. He brought his head up, turning enough toward Victor to fix him with a determined look. 

“The New Year Festival.”

Victor kept his eyes on Yuuri’s face, meeting his gaze head-on. He didn’t seem to understand the reference, repeating Yuuri’s answer back to him as a question.

“For the New Year Festival?”

Yuuri nodded, a fierce, warm want in his chest lighting up his eyes. “It’s what I’m aiming for. I want to perform on the main stage.” Yuuri paused, taking a fortifying breath. Nerves fluttered in his stomach, paired with the determination that’d been with him since the first time he’d seen a certain initiate dance. “I want to dance the Dawn Welcoming with the head initiate of Agape.”

* * *

In retrospect, it was beneficial Victor hadn’t been drinking when Yuuri made his heart-felt pronouncement. He startled regardless, but he didn’t start choking, and he managed to bite down on the reflexive urge to laugh. Not laugh _at_ Yuuri, but laugh at the absurdity of being the head initiate of Agape and hearing from someone they wanted to dance a welcome to the new year with him.

It wasn’t an impossible goal in the slightest. It just wasn’t one Victor had any control over.

Instead he smiled, pleased and also confused over why Yuuri was roundabout in his wording. _I want to dance the Dawn Welcoming with you._ Unless he was embarrassed to be that direct? Victor had told him he still had duties at his sect, and he’d never said he was in any sect _other_ than Agape. Much as he hated to admit it on certain levels, Victor knew he looked his age. Which was to say: someone who was far too old for the Agape Sect. By his own deductive reasoning, there was only one possible person Victor could be.

Victor shrugged off the confusion, letting his belief in what Yuuri could achieve move through him, held in the forefront of his mind. “I see,” he said. “If it’s what you want to do, then I believe you will. The dancers are chosen through the competitive dances the two days before, right?”

For a moment, Yuuri sat there staring at Victor, holding himself tense, as if prepared to fight. Not fight Victor, but fight for a belief, or a dream. Victor’s easy acceptance didn’t seem to really relax him, but his tone of voice, being matter of fact instead of mocking, did manage to take the edge off Yuuri’s body language. 

“Yeah, you have to make it through the qualifying rounds for individuals instead of groups.” He was fiddling with a half-eaten stick, twirling it between his fingers. “I made it to the semifinals last year. Not good enough, but I guess better than the year before. It’s not as easy to _do_ as it is to say I _want_ to do it.”

Victor felt his eyebrows lift. He’d guessed Yuuri was a dancer from the way he moved and his overall physical condition. He still didn’t know what kind of dancing Yuuri liked _best_ , or what he studied or practiced most, but now he had an idea of how good he was. Making it into the top six of those dancers who sought to formally say goodbye to the old year and welcome in the new was impressive enough that he found himself whistling in admiration. “You clearly know your traditional dances here in the city.”

“Who doesn’t?” Yuuri waved off any further comment, pressing on. “It’s not enough. I have to be better at reaching the audience. Being good at one or two aspects isn’t enough to _win_.”

Watching Yuuri’s face, the way he held himself as he spoke, Victor had a feeling that _winning_ was part of what he most wanted. He was undecided if being the best in the eyes of others or the best in his own eyes underlay that drive, but either way, it was one he could respect.

But help? He clearly wasn’t being asked for help. He set the idea aside, not intending to meddle where he wasn’t invited. “No, I can imagine it wouldn’t be.” He paused, then gave a mental shrug, figuring now was as good a time as any to bring up what’d been on his mind the last few days. “Speaking of winning, or of not winning at all, I was considering entering Ice Castle’s amateur night.” He used his fingers to pluck a piece of grilled pheasant off his kebab, smaller chunks than the vegetables or the pork. Yuuri tipped his head to the side, blinking as he regarded Victor, just shy of being disbelieving. 

“You do burlesque?”

He licked his fingers clean, shrugging his shoulders before giving an overly cheerful response. “Nope! Never tried. Think you could give me a few tips?”

Yuuri quirked his eyebrows up in surprise. “What?”

Victor smiled serenely, winking and tapping a finger against his lips. “No, no, but really, I wanted to ask if you’d come watch. Yuuko mentioned you usually do, and I’m not promising any kind of good _burlesque_ performance... “

It was enough to make Yuuri laugh, more of the earlier tension bleeding away. “You’re asking me to come knowingly watch _bad_ burlesque?”

“More like _comedic_ burlesque. I don’t have the right kind of stage presence to do what you do, which is as seductive as anything I’ve seen in my life—you’re blushing!” 

Yuuri’s cheeks were turning red again, a flush that started spreading to his ears and down his neck. Victor found the whole endearing, especially since he couldn’t possibly be the only person to tell Yuuri as much. For his part, Yuuri seemed determined to ignore the state of his face, waving a hand in front of him with his meal half finished in his lap.

“Victor, I’m sure you’ll do fine! You’ve seen enough shows to get an idea of how it goes, you’ve made it clear you’re not a stranger to the stage. I’d be happy to watch you perform. Good, bad, or comedic!” His grin was borderline sheepish, hands coming back down to his lap. “Yuuko was right, and I’d planned to come anyway, but I promise, I’ll be there to watch you perform.”

Yuuri’s following pause was poignant. “You do realise they have two rehearsals that week, right? A dry run through to figure out any stage props and the rest, then a full costume rehearsal.”

Victor rested his fingertips against his chin. “... Mind if we set up that puppy play date for after amateur night?”

Yuuri broke out laughing, hard enough to curl forward over his unfinished plate of food. “Yeah, sure, that’ll work. Mind if we finish dinner?” 

It was Victor’s turn to laugh when Yuuri’s stomach growled, unintentionally underlining his point. “Please, eat!” Their conversation devolved into commentary on the taste of their kebabs, Victor offering over his dark meat pheasant drizzled in a pepper sauce. He insisted on trying to feed Yuuri, which ended up with Yuuri holding Victor’s wrist to keep his hand in place while he delicately, and purposefully, nibbled through one piece. His accompanying happy noises over the taste danced along Victor’s nerves, already alight from the feel of Yuuri’s fingers wrapped around his wrist.

Victor’s breath caught in his throat at the quick flick of Yuuri’s tongue over his lips, chasing after residue of the sauce. More so than watching Yuuri on stage, when he was deliberate and calculated in his moves, motion, and looks, he found that simple, unthought action alluring.

He didn’t remember how everything else tasted after that; simple, pleasant happiness was the best spice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm getting back on top of comments now, and I want to let all you readers, kudos leavers, and those commenting know you make my day, every day. Thank you so much for letting me know you enjoy this little AU lark of mine. It means the world to me. ❤
> 
> Amateur night comes up next chapter, but not before Yuuri starts to have an epiphany of his own...


	6. victor puts it all on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amateur night arrives and Victor reveals his carefully crafted comedy to the audience. What does Yuuri make of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stuck on a part of what flows after where I decided to finally end this chapter, but here this is! Longer than I expected, but ending just where Victor's POV was felt a little more odd to me than where I ultimately called "wrap" for this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

There were little thoughts that didn’t occur to Yuuri until after Victor saw him home again. How it felt natural falling into silence as they enjoyed each other’s company; how Victor didn’t put his gloves back on after eating, but instead tucked them away in a pocket. How his bare hand brushed against Yuuri’s, and Yuuri felt it like a jolt of electricity crackling up his arm.

It’d been simple to turn his wrist, changing pace to fall in line with Victor and take hold of his palm. His fingers curled around Victor’s cool hand while he chose not to look his way; holding his breath for the ridiculous second before Victor’s fingers curled around Yuuri’s hand in turn. At some point they managed to link their fingers together, Victor turning a fond smile Yuuri’s way without comment. Just a squeeze of his hand, and a later observation about a string of colourful lanterns that hung over the street as they walked.

Those were lovely details, but weren’t the ones that struck Yuuri after the fact. It wasn’t until he was sidling in his front door, Vicchan dancing on his hind feet as he twirled and leapt and cavorted in joy that Yuuri wondered why he’d stood on the doorstep and smiled up at Victor and not even once thought about kissing him. 

Unlike the first time where his own contrary nature had been about denying the chance for anything remotely date-like, this had been a different setting and mood. Yet the thought hadn’t occurred to him until his dog was peppering his own kisses all over Yuuri’s hands, nuzzling and licking and jumping up with happy whines and a particularly desperate glance at the door. 

Yuuri relented, turning around and leading Vicchan down the back stairs, heading for the small shared courtyard and garden at the back of the building. While Vicchan managed his business, artfully avoiding any of the flowers people enjoyed for their scent, Yuuri reflected on what _hadn’t_ happened. 

Victor didn’t kiss him, and he hadn’t kissed Victor. It was puzzling now because he knew he wouldn’t mind. Yet there’d been something different while he looked into Victor’s too-blue eyes, a sense and feeling of congenial warmth that flooded through him. Everything had been so wonderful and clear and… content?

He frowned as he thought it over, finally shrugging it off as being in good company and caught up in appreciating that over any other urges he generally embraced. Victor must have been caught up in the same feeling. Next time, who knew? 

Yuuri bit down on his lower lip, crouching to ruffle his fingers through Vicchan’s curls as he returned, business complete. Next time he might even invite Victor up for a while.

* * *

Next time, however, proved to be a bit of a difficulty. Victor met him backstage with a rose before his performance. When Yuuri admitted he’d need to head home right after the show, Victor promised to bring him something for the road.

Yuuri was surprised by Victor apparating well after his performance with a wrapped meal from one of the restaurants in the area, delivering it with an apologetic smile and a wave. “Hungry? This took longer than I expected. I won’t be able to stay tonight, but…”

“Thank you!” Yuuri pulled Victor into an impromptu hug, food foremost on his mind. Which wasn’t his fault, truly, he was _hungry._ Nor did Victor appear to mind, once Yuuri let go. He was difficult to read, but he didn’t pull away. Victor even leaned in _toward_ Yuuri after with a soft exclamation of _wow_. 

Yuuri smiled up at him, cradling the wrapped meal in his hands. “I keep thinking I’ll have time to run home before I head here, but these days that’s less and less likely to happen. You really need to leave?”

“Unfortunately. I’m on duty for evening supplicants, and I’m cutting it close as it is.” He offered an apologetic smile, his reluctance to leave visible. Yuuri saw his resigned acknowledgement that he was, in fact, heading out. “We can get dinner together next time?”

“Yes, we need to. I’m looking forward to it.” 

His minor disappointment when Victor stepped back out through the door was tempered by the faith he’d be seeing him next time. The meal Victor brought was simple and filling: rice and vegetables, along with a small serving of fish. While he ate, legs tucked up under his stool, he was struck by _another_ set of realisations. 

One, he’d spontaneously hugged Victor, which wasn’t a habit he fell into easily even with people he counted as close friends. It’d felt right. It was a nice sort of understanding to reach with himself, even if it was scary how fast he was feeling comfortable around Victor. 

Two, yet again the thought of kissing him hadn’t even crossed Yuuri’s mind. Not even when he caught sight and scent of the food Victor’d brought, when his gratitude flared bright and hot in his chest, happy and surprised.

Why in the world not? He’d shrugged it off as being too new in their relationship at first, since Victor also hadn’t tried to kiss _him_ , though more and more, Yuuri wondered if that wasn’t because Victor was waiting. For what, he had no idea. Explicit permission seemed ridiculous. There was no way Victor lacked confidence in his ability to be seen as _attractive_. 

Then again, Yuuri had held him off for weeks without talking to him. Shifting his gaze to the jug of roses, down to five with the rest plucked and drying for that future rose water, Yuuri figured maybe it was up to him to make that invitation explicit.

Which was not what happened after his following performance. What happened _then_ would have been embarrassing if Yuuri hadn’t been feeling sick, tamping down on nausea until he managed to swagger off stage into a waiting stagehand’s arms. Yuuko asked another stagehand to find Victor, and so it’d been Victor who carried Yuuri upstairs, hitting every gratuitously creaky step along the way. Once there, Victor asked Yuuri if he wanted to change, and helped him into his more comfortable clothes without blinking. 

Victor was surprisingly capable as an impromptu nurse, using the back of his hand to check Yuuri’s temperature, coaxing a little water into him, rubbing his back when he lost the battle against his nausea and lost the contents of his stomach into a pretty, decorative bowl someone had given him ages ago.

Yuuri’s misery was such that in all of his ill-feeling, he _knew_ he’d never see Victor again. There was nothing appealing about the ill. They hadn’t even had a second proper date, Yuuri hadn’t managed to _kiss_ him, and here he was miserable and groaning and disgusting and horrible and _gross_. His garbled confession of all this to Victor was met with surprising patience, Victor sitting on the edge of the lounge chair as he tucked Yuuri’s coat around him.

“You’re just sick, Yuuri, it happens. There’s been quite a few cases of people coming down with one day flus the last two weeks. My guess is that’s what’s going on with you, too.” Victor brushed Yuuri’s hair back off his forehead, resting his hand there after. 

“Do your joints ache? More than normal? You have a small fever, and the nausea should start cooperating now that you’ve given in once. We’ll keep you drinking water, get you home to sleep, and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

He didn’t remember much of the walk home, but he did remember the warmth of Victor at his side, his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, accepting his weight on the occasions where Yuuri stumbled and might have fallen. Phichit came home early, thankfully, and took Vicchan out for his walk. Yuuri remembered to thank him in the morning when he’d woken up, still feeling gross, but not as bad as the night before.

There was no mystery there why he hadn’t felt inclined to kiss Victor, nor Victor to kiss him. Even if a small part of Yuuri remembered his mother pressing her cooler lips against his forehead when he was little and suffering through a fever that clung for a week, he didn’t expect or want that kind of behaviour from Victor. 

The next performance, Victor apologised that he wouldn’t be able to stay and watch, rose set on a prop table hauled back off-stage from an earlier performance. Victor caught both of Yuuri’s hands in his, a searching look in his eyes. “May thunder meet you where you stand.”

Yuuri smiled, genuine in spite of being dressed as Eros. “Where inspiration strikes like lightning, it either follows, or you burn. I’ll missing getting to talk with you tonight, Victor. I… thank you for last time. You really didn’t deserve to be weighed down with all that.”

With another brief squeeze of his hands, Victor smiled, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “You weren’t a burden. I’m just sorry we keep having to push our next date back.”

Yuuri’s pleasure and helpless, sardonic amusement bubbled up through his chest, leaving him breathing out in a huff of laughter. “Same here. Why haven’t we tried to figure things out on one of my off days?”

Victor gave him a small smile, lips quirked up at the corners alone. “Not enough time to discuss, I think. I’ll be running in and out of here around the rehearsals, but if you’re free after the performances on Amateur night…”

“I’m free. I’m absolutely free. We’re both free, so you’re mine for the night.” The slip of fierce determination underpinning his statement caught Yuuri by surprise. He tried to soften its edges with a smile, but he found himself leaning forward, bringing Victor’s hands up between them. “Agreed?”

Whatever Victor seemed to be searching for in Yuuri’s eyes left him smiling and looking oddly hopeful at Yuuri’s insistence. It didn’t make sense, but neither did the thrill that coursed through Yuuri when Victor leaned forward to say, “Yes.”

It was the perfect moment to bridge that remaining distance between them, to claim Victor’s lips while his own were painted in brilliant, bold red. 

Yuuri almost cursed on stage as the thought struck him while stepping through the curtains. _After_ turning away. _After_ tightening his grip on Victor’s hands, and shifting closer.

_After resting his forehead against Victor’s and saying, gaze serious, “Good.”_

He felt that point of contact frizzling with warmth, fingers lifting to brush against his forehead and continue in a motion that both guided and was guided by the music. Stroking over his hair, tracing down the side of his face, fingers dragging along the curve of his neck, out toward his shoulder. He smiled as he moved through a familiar program, teasing and tantalising the audience with his one-man show like he thrived on doing, and wondered why it was he kept fumbling the opportunity to kiss Victor.

He wouldn’t miss it again. Unreasonable as it was, Yuuri was starting to feel like he only had a limited window of chance. He was determined not to miss it. 

He wouldn’t allow Victor to move past him in this senseless, whirlwind of a life without trying to see how it’d be like with him in it.

* * *

Eros the aspect of Love stood dressed in rich purple fabric that draped off their limbs in absurdly soothing loops staring down Agape, with Morale standing to their side.

“You mean to tell me you’ve been following them whenever they’re together… to ensure that one,” they said, gesturing toward the stage where Yuuri teased one half of the skirt clinging to his hips down low, “Experienced more _agape_.”

Agape was utterly serene, willow thin and little more than a child in their current manifestation. Curling brown locks frizzed out from their head, eyes dark and guileless as they smiled up at Eros. “Yes. You were right, Eros. He’s opened very little of himself to _agape_ in recent years. There’s good news, though! He’s starting to allow more of that love in!” Agape clapped their hands, beaming up at Eros.

Eros stared right back, then reached up to pinch the bridge of their nose. “That’s good. What about your head initiate?”

Agape blinked prettily, looking genuinely confused. “What about him?”

“You don’t think that heaping your influence on top of the man he’s trying to get to see him in my kind of light is disruptive at all?”

Agape continued to look up at them in gentle confusion. “No.”

Eros couldn’t blame them. Not entirely. Agape had a very difficult time thinking in specific, personal kinds of loves. Enduring loves or passions for only one or a handful of individuals, instead of the love and empathy given to the world at large. Agape inherently _couldn’t_ feel Eros, just as Eros couldn’t feel Agape. Not until they were all combined within Love itself. Divided as parts, their strengths lay in differing perspectives and approaches and means of helping those people who had crafted their faith.

Eros also knew Agape was perfectly capable of being willingly obtuse when it suited. There were certain details that they didn’t want to acknowledge in the face of their consideration of a greater love for all.

Eros, on the other hand, excelled at loves that were larger than life between as few as two individual souls. Loves that were passionate and consuming, physical and uplifting, beautiful and deadly dangerous in turns. Eros wasn’t about love for everyone. Eros didn’t even deal in equality of love, like other aspects. Tempering balance came from somewhere else, negotiated within their realm.

So Eros knew perfectly well that Agape’s influence was disruptive though well meaning. Likely even beneficial for the mortal soul being coaxed into accepting their kind of love. They also knew the trouble they’d land themselves in if Agape’s head initiate was thwarted in their pursuit of _eros_ because of Agape’s over-attentiveness and Eros’s lack of attention.

“Agape, let’s try a different approach. How about you spend time with the mortal who needs to acknowledge more of your aspect of love when he’s _not_ with your head initiate?”

Agape frowned in concentration, walking their own paths of logic. “I guess,” they said, expression faintly troubled. “Can I still watch the performance?”

Eros started smiling, glad they could pull Agape back onto the path to allowing their head initiate to explore the touch of _eros_ , before Agape’s request left them momentarily stymied. “All you have to do is turn around?”

Agape laughed, a light, beautiful sound that made Eros smile again. Shaking their frizzy head, they skipped closer, taking up Eros’s hands in their own. Swinging their hands out and back in, they smiled beautifully up at them. “No, Eros, I don’t mean _this_ one. He’s very talented though, isn’t he? I can feel a love like yours and Ludus all around us. It’s cozy.”

Eros’s bemusement left them peering down at Agape’s face, letting them continue to swing their hands. “Then which performance did you mean?”

Agape giggled, letting go of one hand to twirl themselves under Eros’s arm. It was likely a subtle influence from _ludus_ throughout the room, Agape susceptible to both _philia_ and _ludus_ for their broader applicability. “My head initiate! He’s going to be on stage in two days. Or is it three?” They hummed, pleased either way. “I’ll try not to influence the other one. Or you could come with me! We’ll balance each other out.”

It was very difficult to say no to Agape when what they said made sense. Morale moved up to stand at their side, reaching out and settling a hand on their shoulder. That night Morale took on the appearance of an aged soldier, a woman with hard lines around her eyes and a smile on her face. She stood in worn armour, well loved and well preserved, still glinting in the light. Mortals might not perceive any of the three of them with their eyes, but their influence spread through the room as they manifested themselves.

Morale was a good balance for the feeling of the room from what Eros could sense. Though she was also a misleading one for a few of those who felt bolstered to foster feelings that would be unlikely to be reciprocated. Eros embraced those mortals, too. Unrequited love was as much part of their aspect as requited love.

Eros shifted their attention to Morale, pulling their thoughts away from the tantalising energy of the room as a whole.

“Yes, old friend?”

“It’ll be worth your time to come along, Eros. He could use the balance. I’ve tried helping as I can, lingering past when Agape moves on, but it’s been jarring. The seed is there. They just need the chance to water it well.”

Agape nodded, eyes dark and wiser than their form would make them seem. Misleading, as all aspects could be misleading. There was no one proper face for them to give the world. 

“If Morale says this, it is true.” Agape wouldn’t be able to know if the seed for _eros_ lay in either man’s heart. That much they were aware of and willing to admit. “Please?”

Eros sighed, running one hand over Agape’s frizzy hair. “Fine. You can watch, and I’ll attend with you.” They managed to catch Agape as the other aspect jumped on them, arms locking around their neck in a hug. 

“I love you, Eros!”

“Love you too, Agape.” Not that any of them were capable of truly hating each other, being that they were all _of_ each other, temporarily apart.

Morale ruffled the hair of both aspects of love. “I love you two.”

Agape laughed, Eros leaning over to kiss Morale on her lips. They winked, Morale looking skyward and muttering as all three aspects started to dematerialise from the mortal establishment. 

“Though sometimes I wonder why when you’re all involved in over half the trouble I’m called on to help handle.”

* * *

Victor knew his performance would _technically_ work by the end of their rehearsal. His lighting requirements were simple, and his discussion with the musicians gave them a basis to build off as they saw fit. Everyone seemed amused by the concept, smiles lingering on faces as the rest of the performers went through their pieces. 

He’d go first based on the minimal set-up the stage would require and to help set a lighter mood for the evening. Anywhere else it might have been seen as almost disruptive, once all the performances had been run through and seen in full.

Still, as he watched the lights dim and walked out on stage carrying a pillow and wrapped in a blanket, Victor wondered how this would go over. By and large he danced for others; he couldn’t perfect this, but he could see where selling the surprise would land him.

Folding the blanket in half, Victor dropped the pillow, going to his knees to slide between the two halves of the blanket. Before he lay down, he used both hands to muss his hair best he could, foregoing using hair oil on account of disliking the feel.

The lights came up, growing bright as the music mimicked itself after a familiar morning welcome song. Victor counted down from five, miming as he stifled a yawn, snaking his arms overhead to stretch and arch his back from where he was nestled between the blankets. 

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, hair trying to fall poorly back into place. With his back to the audience, he let the blanket pool around his hips. He brought his arms up until they met over his head, showing his bare back to everyone watching. He didn’t expect it to matter, not even as his fingers laced together and he tipped his head back, _stretching_ for the ceiling.

He wasn’t here to seduce an audience. Entertain one, yes. Leaving them laughing would be his high goal for the night, but the only man he wanted to seduce in the audience, the only person he wanted to bring close and invite in, to listen to and learn about for more and more and more in a greedy sense, was unlikely to be seduced.

It didn’t matter. Victor wasn’t here to compete on Yuuri’s playing field. He was here to show his willingness to try, regardless, even when it was laughable. As he stood, back still to the audience, he allowed himself a small smile of amusement that here he was eschewing the whole order of events, starting out only wearing his close fitting, nice black undergarments.

Not a loan. Not bought for this show. Bought because he figured he could pamper himself even if he couldn’t convince anyone else he was seriously interested in the same.

He turned with the music, one hand raking his hair as he muffled another yawn, shivering theatrically after. He shuffled around, patting one foot on stage as his arms came down, hands rubbing over his biceps like he was cold. He was chilly, but far less than he’d expected before the dress rehearsal. He held up one foot, cocking his head to examine it with an exaggerated frown.

A bundle hit the stage to his left. Thigh-high socks bounced and rolled, coming to a stop while he watched. He smiled, rubbing his arms more slowly as he crossed the stage with a deliberate sweeping dancer’s run, stooping own to collect the socks and unbundle them with his hands. A flick of his wrist sent them unrolling, held up and shown to the audience with a coy smile he figured came across as pleased. He never knew exactly _how_ people’s perceptions warped, but he took it for granted by now they simply did.

Twirling one sock in much the same manner than most performers twirled a glove after stripping it off, Victor sauntered back toward center stage where his “bed” lay in artless disarray. Seating himself, he shifted sideways, lifting a leg and running his hand up toward his foot to grip his ankle. 

He held that position for a two-count, then traced back down over the muscles of his calf and thigh, rolling his ankle and pointing his toes. Victor lay down on his back, kicking his feet in the air to the tempo of the music, bunching one sock up until he had it ready to pull on.

Laughing cheers accompanied his knee bending back toward his chest, a saucy wiggling of his toes before they pointed obediently, submitting to the indignity of the sock that slid over them. With all the same teasing flirtation used to pull a sock down, Victor instead pulled one up, hands adjusting where the sock ended mid-thigh, then trailing up to his hips. 

Placing both hands on the blanket, he continued the movement by arching his back, bracing with his naked foot while he lifted his sock-clad leg and pointed his toes. He gave another slow roll of his ankle before lowering himself back down, rocking up to a seated position and picking up his remaining sock.

Draping it around his neck, he made a show of turning himself around, repeating the same process with his other leg. Once he had both thigh-high socks on, Victor stood, fingertips playing with the top line of his socks. For a man walking around wearing nothing more than underwear and thigh-high socks, he was getting a fair share of amused laughter.

As planned.

Rubbing his arms with another exaggerated shiver, he bit down on his lower lip, scanning the stage for a shirt that hadn’t yet been provided. What ended up tossed on stage was the deep maroon sweater he’d expected to see later. 

Victor smiled, jumping in place and kicking his feet up high behind him. This time he danced his way to where the sweater lay splayed on the stage, scooping it up and twirling around, rubbing his cheek on the material like a cat. 

He’d planned on dancing more with a shirt, but the sweater lacked any sleeves, and so he instead brought himself to a stop center-stage. Letting his feet slide to shoulder width apart, Victor faced the audience, lifting the sweater overhead and slipping his arms through in order to pull the rest of the material down over his head.

He coaxed the extra length of the high, folded collar down over the crown of his head, pulling down until his eyes peered over the end of the material. He winked, waggling his fingers at the audience, and pressed one fingertip over the approximate location of his lips. The titter of laughter that met the actions was another reward; he only paused long enough for those gestures, pulling the collar down fully after. 

The sweater’s collar folded over itself, neatly framing his neck. Victor took that moment to toss his hair, raking his fingers through it to tame its apparent lack of cooperation. His lips parted and he winked at the audience, hands moving from where they rested on the back of his head down toward the base of his neck, elbows splaying to the sides.

After tying the dangling pieces of fabric he found at the nape of his neck into a lopsided bow while he walked the length of the stage, Victor stopped to rub his still exposed arms. He smoothed his hands over the outside edge of the sweater, running over the outside of his pectorals, then down toward his hip bones. With a little squirm, he pulled the sweater more firmly down, leaving barely a handwidth of space between the bottom of the sweater and top of his socks.

Then he turned, showing that side of the room the deep bow at the back of the sweater, dipping down to below his tailbone. It nicely framed his black underwear, but utterly useless if he was trying to get warm, as he continued to pantomime.

The hunt was on for his next item of clothing, hopefully one of those he expected. There was the lacy skirt, the frayed shorts, or given the sweater surprise, he half expected to see garters tossed up for him to pin socks to sweater. Why not?

The shorts hit the stage next, tossed from the opposite side. Yuuko did a good job seeding the stagehands who could be spared out in the audience. It might have even been the same person weaving through the audience tossing everything up for him.

He took his time moving toward the shorts, listening to the music and ad libbing as he went, letting his hands roam up his chest as if the material was irresistible. It’d be nice if he could say the same for himself, but lacking that, he worked with what he could.

Turning pulling on shorts into a production required picking them up and smoothing them out, holding them to his hips and turning one way, then the other, as if examining himself in a mirror. He walked forward, still staring at a fixed point, spinning on the ball of his foot to stalk back over the same distance. 

A nod toward that fixed point was met by him turning around, bending over with what would be flirtatious intent for anyone else. Victor used it as time to get the shorts open, threading one foot through a pant leg before he hopped himself sideways, trying to get his other leg through.

The familiarity of seeing anyone struggle with getting into pants of all kinds had people laughing. While Victor kept himself from smiling at how he had an entirely _different_ kind of trouble when it came to people not getting into his pants, he managed to triumphantly slide his other foot home. 

His back was, of course, toward the audience once more, so his shimmying as he inched those shorts up his thighs and over the curve of his butt was on prime display for everyone seated beyond him in the darker space. 

Not that he heard much as far as cheering; unless the shout of _you can do it!_ counted as anything more than encouragement. Otherwise it was laughter and applause, continuing past when he faced the audience and triumphantly tugged his sweater back into place, effectively rendering the line of his shorts invisible.

He rested his hands on his hips, flashing a winning smile that turned into one of concern as he made his eyes widen comically. Victor brought his hands up to his head, patting his hair, then pressing his palms flat against it. Looking first right, then left, he bit down on his lower lip again, waiting for whatever head-piece was offered to him at center stage. Would it be the bowler hat? The bonnet? There was also the beaded netting to keep in mind. 

A glint of light off glasses had his heart skipping a beat, Victor starting forward while the realisation ran a half-second behind. Was that Yuuri? Well played on Yuuko’s part if so, and an amusing wrap to Victor’s particular performance. 

He smiled, expression earnest and warm as he approached the edge of the stage and slowly went down on one knee.

* * *

Yuuko hadn’t said a word to Yuuri about what the specifics of Victor’s performance were. She’d only mentioned what Victor himself had told Yuuri: that he’d come up with the idea and figured out how to make it work, choreographed it, and hoped it’d make Yuuri smile. Until that night, she’d refused to say anything more. 

When she’d found Yuuri in the audience before everything was going to start, she carried one of the false flower-crowns with her, red roses and rich green leaves.

“How’d you like to surprise Victor?” she asked, eyes twinkling with restrained laughter along with anticipation. Yuuri’d seen that look his fair share of times over his life. He remained glad it wasn’t aimed his way.

“A good surprise?”

“Bad ones aren’t usually the kind anyone _wants_ to give, Yuuri.” She lifted the crown of roses, giving it a gentle shake. “Victor needs someone to hand this to him at the end of his performance. Will you?”

Mystified, Yuuri was already accepting the flower crown by the time he realised how neatly he’d probably been played. “I can manage that much, assuming I’ll know when he’s at the end of his performance.” He breathed out in a snort, shaking his head in fond amusement. “What were you planning on doing if I said no?”

Yuuko shrugged, unconcerned. “Giving it to him myself.” She reached out, patting the side of his arm. “How’ve things been going between the two of you?”

Yuuri hummed an uncertain note in the back of his throat, knowing he wasn’t going to give her any in depth answer. He rarely did. Yuuko never appeared to mind, and he doubted she’d start minding now. “Forward.” He met her gaze, giving her a small nod. 

Her hand fell away from his arm, eyes warming as she took in his answer. “If you wanted to send him off, I can hold that for you until you’re back.”

Yuuri only hesitated for a moment before he handed her the red rose flower crown, tossing a thank you back over his shoulder. Winding through the crowd for the door off to the side of the stage was more difficult tonight for no particular reason; he might have forgotten how busy it often was out on the floor. On the stage, everyone tended to blur. Volume was a better indication than what his blind eyes could see in the collection of shadows beyond the stage.

Once backstage, he found Victor huddled in a blanket, clutching a pillow in his blanket-covered arms. The visual was both surprising and shocking. Yuuri’s concern lanced through him even as he bridged the distance between them, reaching up to tug on the blanket where it hugged the curve of Victor’s neck.

“Are you sick?”

“Yuuri!” Victor sounded happy, not ill. It wasn’t an answer. Yuuri frowned before he thought about it, tugging the blankets closer under Victor’s chin.

“I mean it, Victor, are you feeling well?”

Victor chuckled, smiling at Yuuri with good humour and mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Yes, and I’m feeling even better with you here.”

Victor seemed at ease, pleased to see Yuuri. He didn’t carry himself like someone feeling ill. Yuuri had no idea how a blanket and clutched pillow was going to translate into a performance out on stage, but he felt the certainty that Victor was already in costume settle in his mind. 

_The make-up should have given it away_ , he decided, appreciating the fullness of Victor’s lashes when they’d been darkened, kohl lining Victor’s eyes. “Sweet talker,” Yuuri said at last, breathing out in a soft snort as the flare of worry started to calm. “I take it you’re in costume?”

“Pretty sexy, right?” Victor smiled, winking as he stayed complacent under Yuuri’s touch lingering on the blanket under his chin. 

“If you like the rumpled ‘I just got out of bed’ look.”

Victor tipped his head forward, still looking amused. “Do you?”

A brief vision of Victor standing by the window looking out over the street near the foot of Yuuri’s bed, blue blanket draped around his shoulders, passed through his head. The simple want behind it, a desire to have him there in the aftermath of something, anything else, caught Yuuri by surprise. He swallowed against a thickening in his throat, watching Victor’s eyes go from teasing to widening with a mild surprise, soon enough overtaken by unaccountable heat as his cheeks tinged pink. His voice came out huskier than he expected when he replied.

“I do.”

They stood like that for three beats of his heart, Victor’s face tipped down, Yuuri’s hands resting over Victor’s heart, fancying he could feel his heart beating as fiercely as Yuuri’s. Heat crept over his cheeks as Yuuri leaned forward, starting to tip his head back, knowing exactly what he wanted, exactly what he could give Victor. He heard Victor’s breath catch as Yuuri’s fingers tightened in the material of the blanket. 

A sudden crash to the side startled them both into jerking their heads away from each other. A babbling apology coming from a younger stagehand who’d run into Takeshi, the empty pewter saucer he’d been carrying gone flying to the ground explaining the sound. 

“It’s fine, just pick up and get this back where it’s supposed to be.” Grunting at the rapid nodding and affirmatives from the young stagehand, Takeshi clasped their shoulder and stepped past. He caught sight of Victor and Yuuri, calling out to them as he walked past. “Agape! You’re on in five. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I will be,” Victor said without hesitation, a flash of regret in his eyes. He shifted his attention to Takeshi, giving him a winning smile. “Yuuko said everything else was in place.”

“Good.” Takeshi looked at Yuuri, lifting his eyebrows with a small, smug smile. “Yuuri, aren’t you supposed to be out in the audience?”

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Smiling like what?” Takeshi asked, continuing to sport that same small, smug smile.

Yuuri sighed, shaking his head and making a dismissive motion with his hands. “Nevermind. I’ll be heading back out there soon.”

He turned his head back to Victor, clearly dismissing Takeshi from his attention. Takeshi’s snort of amusement reached Yuuri’s ears. He ignored it, feeling too certain both Yuuko and Takeshi knew something about Victor’s performance that kept them looking amused at Yuuri’s expense. He trusted it wasn’t anything mocking, but the self-satisfied air Takeshi wore in particular was going to make him grumpy if he wasn’t careful. Huffing out a sigh, he smiled at Victor, patting his blanket smooth over his chest.

“May thunder meet you where you stand.”

The inversion of luck-wishing softened Victor’s expression, lips curling into a small smile. His mussy hair slid over one eye as he replied. “Where inspiration strikes like lightning, it either follows, or you burn. See you after the show?”

It was easy to nod and smile at that, looking forward to getting to claim more of Victor’s time. Funny how the delays and frustrations over the last two weeks made him miss even the simplicity of Victor walking him home. His hand ached, fingers clenching and straightening as Yuuri took a step away, heading toward the front room. “See you then, Agape.”

He found Yuuko saving his seat in front of center stage, flower crown resting on the table before her. She smiled at him when he slipped back around to her side, scooting the chair out and surrendering it to Yuuri once more. “Don’t forget this is for the end of his performance.” She hooked a finger in the flower crown, tugging it closer to Yuuri as he sat. 

His hands folded over it, fingertips playing with the velvet soft petals. Anticipation fluttered in his stomach. “Don’t worry, Yuuko. I won’t forget.”

The crowd milled and chattered away until the lights dimmed, the announcer taking stage to call out the first act of the night. “Taking the stage first tonight, please welcome Agape!”

Victor—no, _Agape_ —stole onto stage when the lights were dimmed, blanket and pillow arranged like an impromptu bed on the stage. The music began, soft and lilting, familiar in a way Yuuri didn’t pin at first. By then, Agape was already waking, sitting up and stretching as the blanket settled around his waist, displaying his startlingly bare shoulders and the broad expanse of his back.

Yuuri coughed, fist pressed up against his lips as he shifted in his seat. Starting off half naked seemed a little ridiculous, considering there was only so much one could _strip off_ , for all he was appreciating the view. Agape was in good physical shape, no, _great_ physical shape, the planes of his back clearly defined as he rolled his shoulders and neck, arms stretching high overhead.

_What will it be like to run my hands down his back?_ Yuuri shook off the intrusive thought, but it didn’t go far, lingering in the back of his mind. The same thought jumped right to the front of it as Agape stood with his blanket falling away, revealing he was wearing nothing more than little black underwear. 

Yuuri made a little sound of protest in the back of his throat while he could hear other members of the crowd laugh, as if startled into the sound. Except they kept laughing as Agape began his search for his wardrobe, Yuuri more and more flabbergasted. He could see the comedic elements, but he could also see far more of Agape than he’d been counting on, from the flex of his abdominal muscles to the play of light off his bare pectorals as he leaned down; the chill air leaving Agape’s nipples pink flushed and hard in an entirely innocent context that Yuuri’s mind was fast taking to non-innocent places.

Not one person whistled. No one cheered or called out appreciation for Agape’s near-nudity. They laughed and cheered as he struggled into socks, Yuuri’s fingers tightening around the flower crown as he crossed his legs and felt a flush creeping up his neck. He laughed a few times as Agape played the humour in his performance to the music, movements smooth and deliberate. 

Agape clearly understood how to pull a response from the audience, but Yuuri didn’t see how everyone could have been pulled into behaving so politely. Agape might have been dressing himself piece by piece, but even so, it was all far from innocent. The provocation of seeing Agape go from nearly naked to nearly clothed gave him all sorts of ideas, from the path he wanted his hands to trace along the inside curve of the back on that ridiculous sweater to the way he wanted to trail kisses down Agape’s phenomenal legs while he rolled his thigh-high socks right back down again.

There was an irony in the fact that seeing Agape get dressed up was leaving Yuuri with a compelling desire to undress Victor, taking him apart piece by piece in the process. He swallowed, throat gone dry, as he started to slide out of his seat. Hands holding the flower crown up, he nudged through the crowd, eyes never leaving Agape.

Lights blinded him from the side as he came to a stop at stage center, lifting the flower crown in his hands. The red of the roses flooded his senses, and for a moment, he almost believed he could smell the real thing there in his hands.

Then Agape stood before him, Yuuri’s heart pounding hard in his chest. Agape went down to one knee as he smiled, bowing his head toward Yuuri to allow him easy access to the crown of his head. There was a question for Yuuri there in Victor’s eyes, beyond whatever persona he pulled on as Agape for the stage. 

Yuuri lifted the flower crown and settled it across Victor’s brow, not even smiling in return. Blue eyes and red roses were all he could see for the moment before Yuuri threaded his fingers through Victor’s hair, tugging him forward as he stepped up and pressed his lips against Victor’s. 

Chaste and passionate, he poured a hint of the fire that’d been ignited in him watching Victor’s beautiful comedy as Agape into his kiss. Victor’s hands flew up to grab Yuuri’s shoulders to keep himself from pitching forward off the stage. A split-second of confusion left him unresponsive to Yuuri’s lips on his; Yuuri felt the moment Victor started kissing him back, eyes closing as the heat of the lights and the cheers of the crowd faded into white noise.

Their kiss lasted forever; within seconds, it was over. Victor pulled back enough to see Yuuri’s face, eyes searching his own. “Wow,” he said, voice breathy and near swallowed by the people still cheering around them.

“You surprised me,” Yuuri said, lips curling up into a smile as he looked into Victor’s eyes. “I wanted to surprise you, too.”


End file.
